Saruman Redivivus
by Elf Eye
Summary: Another in the "Nameless One" series. Set after "Novices No Longer."
1. Chosen

            Anomen, stretched out on the limb of a tree, heard soft elven footsteps approaching.

"Ah, Anomen, there you are.  You see, Elrohir, I told you he would be in this tree and not the one over by the waterfall.  The spray from the waterfall makes his perch in that tree too uncomfortable on a cold day like today."

            Anomen looked down to see Elladan and Elrohir grinning up at him.

            "Let me guess: Erestor has a scroll that he wishes me to copy."

"No," chorused the twins.

"Glorfindel is finally going to keep his threat to make me shine not only the outsides but the insides of the helmets."

"Not yet!"  

            "But if he catches you climbing down the trellis one more time, I really think he will," added Elrohir.

            "Elrond wants me for some reason?"

            "Yes!"

            "Should I be trembling with fear and trepidation?"

            "Actually, Anomen," replied Elladan, "we haven't the slightest idea as to why Ada has sent for you.  Mithrandir may be mixed up in it, somehow; the two of them have been closeted together all morning."

            Anomen's eyes gleamed.  If Mithrandir were involved, it couldn't be too bad.  In fact, likely something pleasant was in store—when Mithrandir showed up, adventure generally followed.  Eagerly he leaped down from his perch and hurried back to the Hall.

            "Please sit down, Anomen."  Elrond nodded at the young elf.  Mithrandir smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling in the familiar pattern that Anomen had come to know so well.

            "Mithrandir and I were just about to open this bottle of Dorwinion wine that Mithrandir acquired in Greenwood."

            "Greenwood?"  Anomen was surprised, for he only knew Mithrandir to have visited his father's kingdom once, long ago when Anomen himself was a mere elfling.  He also found himself to be uncomfortable.  What if Mithrandir had learned something in Mirkwood that would affect his own position here in Rivendell, perhaps making it a precarious one?

            "Yes, Greenwood.  It has been long since I traveled to Thranduil's kingdom, and I thought it behooved me to bring myself up to date on developments in that realm."

            "And how do Thranduil and his folk fare?" asked Elrond as he poured himself and his friend a glass of the wine.  After considering a moment, he poured Anomen a glass as well.

            Mithrandir shook his head.  "I wish I could say that all is well.  Alas, the triple threat of spiders, Orcs, and wargs continues to grow, and an ever-deepening darkness emanates from Dol Guldur.  Moreover, the king has suffered a great personal loss."  Mithrandir turned to Elrond.  "This is a loss that you above all would appreciate, for I know how dear your children are to you.  It would seem that the Prince of Greenwood has fallen prey to a spider.  His body was never found—that would not be surprising, of course—but strands of his hair were found tangled in a web."

            "Ai! that is sad news indeed!  How is Thranduil bearing up under such a tragedy?"

            "Rather worse than his subjects would have expected.  Rumor had it that Thranduil had no love to spare for the prince; nevertheless, it is reported that the king spends every free hour in the prince's room, wandering about the room and passing his hands over his son's abandoned clothing and possessions.  It is true that when I dined with him, he seemed subdued and much more taciturn than usual."

Elrond raised an eyebrow.  "That would be taciturn indeed!"

Anomen found Mithrandir's account difficult to believe.  His father grieved for him?  No, that could not be true!  Thranduil had never spared him so much as a word or a glance.  So bewildered was Anomen that he did not notice that the wizard was now addressing him.

"Anomen!" said Elrond sternly.  "Attend to our guest."

"I beg your pardon, Mithrandir!"

"As I was saying, you lived for a time in Greenwood.  What say you about the relationship between the prince and the king?

Anomen replied, and truthfully, "I did not know the king very well at all.  I saw him rarely and spoke to him even less."

It seemed to Anomen that Mithrandir's eyes had become even more piercing than usual as the Istar gazed at the young Elf.  After a pause that lasted much too long for Anomen's liking, the wizard turned back to the elf-lord.  "Fortunately, in spite of his sorrow the King of Mirkwood is ready to join with us in taking action against the evil of Dol Guldur.  And it is for that reason," the wizard added, looking once again at Anomen, "that we have summoned you.  In relation to this matter, an embassy will be setting out under the direction of Glorfindel and Erestor, and you will be numbered among it."

 Elrond elaborated.  "It will be both an embassy and a trading mission, for the delegation will be meeting with a company of Rohirrim to discuss the exchange of studs to strengthen our respective herds.  For that purpose, the delegation will first travel to the Gap of Rohan."

Anomen felt a twinge of fear.  That meant he would be passing through Dunland.

"You need not fear, Anomen," said Elrond, divining Anomen's thoughts.  "The Dunlendings have never yet attacked a well-armed band of warriors.  Moreover, as you well know, the Dunlending whom you feared the most is no longer among the living."

 Anomen nodded somberly.  He would never forget the sound of the life gurgling from the throats of the Dunlendings who had been betrayed by the Southrons, their erstwhile allies.

"While the embassy is treating with the Rohirrim," continued Elrond, "we need someone to carry a message to Isengard.  We have been urging Saruman to participate in a Council over the threat in southern Greenwood, and we wish to renew our appeals.  You have been to Isengard and were well-received, were you not?"

"Yes," replied Anomen uneasily.  Why did he not want to return to Isengard?

"Then, since Saruman knows you and seems favorably disposed to you, we think you would make a fitting messenger."

Anomen looked toward Mithrandir.  The young Elf sensed that the wizard had his own purpose for sending him to Isengard, something in addition to the one stated by Elrond.

Mithrandir spoke.  "After you have delivered your message to Saruman, you will rejoin the embassy, which will travel on to Lothlórien.  After Glorfindel and Erestor have consulted with the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel, the company will ride on to Greenwood.  You, however," the wizard added, "Will remain in Lothlórien as the guest of Celeborn and Galadriel."  To Anomen's surprise, the Istar winked at him.

Anomen exhaled in relief.  He had feared that he would be expected to journey on to Greenwood and was not sure what he would have done if that had been so.  He did not like the idea of stopping in Isengard, but a return to Greenwood would be far worse!

Elrond and Mithrandir were both looking at him, and Anomen realized that he was expected to say something.

"I am honored that you would consider me worthy to carry your message to Isengard."  He inclined his head slightly and arose.

 "If that is all, my Lords, I will go and prepare for the journey."

The older Elf and the Istar arose and returned his bow.

"Stay well, Anomen," said Mithrandir.

"May the Valar be with you," added Elrond.

Anomen nodded his thanks, turned, and strode from the room.


	2. Horse Trading

            "You are going on a journey, and we are not!?"  It was all Elrohir could do to keep himself from pouting like an elfling.

            "Aye, Elrohir, but it will not be a grand adventure—just a trading and diplomatic mission.  If it will console you any, I swear that I will try to stay as bored as possible."

            "That," said Elladan, "is a promise you will _never keep.  You are like Mithrandir: where you go, adventure is sure to follow."_

            "Because he himself follows in Mithrandir's wake," chortled Elrohir.

            "Oh, I don't know about that," said the wizard under discussion as he stepped through the doorway.  "From what your Adar has told me, Anomen is quite capable of precipitating adventures entirely on his own—as well, I might add, as dragging along anyone who has the ill fortune to be in the vicinity when the fireworks begin."

            "That's not fair," argued Anomen.  "Elladan and Elrohir were responsible for my latest adventure.  If they hadn't let themselves be dragged off by the Southrons, I would have been able to stay comfortably in camp—that is, as comfortably as one could whilst cleaning up after an entire band of warriors."

            "As if we could have helped being dragged off," protested Elladan.  "But Mithrandir, why are we not to go?"

            "Have you two any reason to go?"

            "But we want to go!"

            "At your age you have not yet learned that you can't always get what you want?"

            "Very well, then, we _need_ to go."

            "Hmph! I very much doubt _that_.  But the truth of the matter is this: Glorfindel is much impressed with your tracking skills, Elladan and Elrohir.  He was loath to spare the two of you from the patrol in his absence."

Anomen's face fell.  Had the balrog-slayer found his skills to be lacking?

"Hah!" Elrohir started to gloat, but then he saw Anomen's face.

Mithrandir laughed at the young Elf's crestfallen expression.  "Anomen, Glorfindel thinks you are a fine tracker.  He merely objected to the patrol being deprived of all three of you at once.  He has grudgingly acceded to our request that he spare you, but he insisted that Elladan and Elrohir remain on duty.  There now, that explanation should satisfy all of you."

Judging from the smiles on the faces of the young Elves, Mithrandir had indeed placated each of the trio.

"Mithrandir," asked Anomen, "why are you not to be a member of this delegation?"

"Ah, pen-neth, what do I know about horse-trading?"

Elrohir looked puzzled.  "But I have heard Ada say that you are an excellent horse-trader."

Mithrandir laughed.  "Yes, I am an excellent horse-trader, but I am not especially well-versed about the desirable qualities of mares and stallions."

"How can you be an excellent horse-trader without knowing such particulars?" asked Elladan.

Mithrandir laughed again.  "Ask Erestor to define 'horse-trading' for you.  Then you will understand how it is that a wizard can both be and not be an excellent 'horse-trader'."

"But, Mithrandir," Anomen insisted, "horse-trading is only part of our mission.  Why is it that you yourself are not traveling to Isengard, Lothlórien, and Greenwood?  Again and again you have expressed your concern about Dol Guldur, but yet you are not to take part in the negotiations regarding an alliance against the enemy.  Why is this so?"

"If a Council is held—as I hope it will be—then I shall attend.  Meanwhile, I have business in the North."

"Ah," said Elladan wisely, "you are off to visit Shire, the land of your Periannath friends."

"_The Shire," Mithrandir corrected him.  "Yes, I do have some business there.  But now I am come to collect Anomen.  Erestor wishes to go over certain maps with him so that he is becomes more familiar with some features of the lands he is to cross."_

"Ugh, geography.  Will I never be old enough to be excused from these lessons!?"

"If you are wise, you will never consider yourself too old to benefit from the knowledge and wisdom of others."  Mithrandir looked stern.

Chastened, Anomen nodded.  Then he turned to say farewell to Elladan and Elrohir.

 "I _told_ you," he said wryly, "that I was going to be bored."

The twins laughed, and Elrohir said, "Well, perhaps it will not be as difficult for you to keep your promise as we thought—not if Erestor keeps you pouring over maps."

With that, Anomen left the room in the company of Mithrandir.


	3. Lessons

            Two weeks had passed since Anomen had uttered his light-hearted farewell to Elladan and Elrohir, and so far he had kept his promise fairly well—he hadn't been altogether bored, but nothing of great import had taken place.  Break camp.  Ride.  Halt for the noon meal.  Ride.  Make camp.  Take his turn on watch.  Break camp.  And to Anomen's dismay, he was _still_ the youngest in the company, and so, yes, he was once again the one who had to haul water, collect wood, skin squirrels, and wash dishes.  Thoron, who had taken a great liking to Anomen, often volunteered to help him with these chores, but Glorfindel seemed grimly determined to make sure Anomen remembered that, even if Elrond no longer thought Anomen a novice, _technically_ he still was one.

            Only one thing prevented Anomen from becoming utterly indifferent to his surroundings: he was certain that they were being watched by unfriendly eyes and that the number of the watchers was increasing day by day.  He would glance anxiously at Glorfindel to see if the balrog-slayer seemed aware of this fact, but Glorfindel continued to ride along as serenely as if this were an excursion along the protected banks of the Baranduin.

            At last Anomen could stand it no longer.  He spurred his horse out of his place near the end of the column and rode up alongside Glorfindel.  The balrog-slayer did not seem at all perturbed to find the youngest of the company suddenly riding alongside him.  Indeed, Anomen had the feeling that Glorfindel had been expecting him.

            "Anomen."

            "My Lord."

            "You have a question."

            "Yes, my Lord."  Anomen hesitated.  He feared that Glorfindel would think him presumptuous.  At last he went on.

"My Lord, I believe that we are being watched and that the number of the watchers has been increasing."

"Both of your suppositions are correct," Glorfindel said calmly.

"Oh."

The two rode on silently side by side, Anomen wondering how to return again to his place with the least amount of embarrassment.

"You are no doubt wondering," Glorfindel suddenly said—when he judged that Anomen had suffered long enough—"what I mean to do about the situation."

"If such curiosity may be permitted."

Glorfindel smiled, but only slightly, at Anomen's careful diffidence.  "This mission is too important for us to retreat in the face of the Dunlendings."

"They are Dundlendings, my Lord?"

"Yes.  We are being watching, but we have been returning the favor. Our scouts have reported back on the kind, number, and disposition of those who surround us.  They number two hundred, more or less, and are heavily armed."

"Two hundred!  But we are only a score."

Glorfindel nodded, apparently unconcerned.

"Yet we will not turn back, my Lord?"

"No, we cannot allow ourselves to be turned aside from our goal—too much is at stake.  Moreover, we would not find safety in doing so.  They stand between us and the Gap of Rohan, but they likewise block any return to Imladris.  We risk no more in going forward than we would in going back."

"Then we will fight?"

"If need be.  We will not turn aside to seek out battle.  We will wait for them to make their intentions clear.  They believe they have reason to fear us, and it may be that they only mean to stay on their guard until we have passed through their lands.  If a company of men were to pass through Imladris, we would watch them as carefully.  We have the right to defend ourselves; so do the Dunlendings."

"But we do not plan to hurt them!"

"They do not know that."

"So they will watch us, and we will watch them."

"Yes.  We will not attack first.  If they attack us, however, we will fight to protect our lives and our mission.  Keep your bow strung, Anomen, and your sword loose in its sheath."

"Yes, my Lord."  Anomen reined his horse about and cantered back to his place.

Thoron looked over at him as he rode up.  "Has your curiosity been satisfied, Anomen?"

The young Elf blushed.  Had his thoughts been so obvious?  Glorfindel was right about him.  Many months of gathering wood and hauling water would have to pass before he was ready to take his place among the fully-fledged warriors.

As dusk drew near, by a seemingly unspoken agreement the band of elves drew into a more compact configuration.  Anomen found that he had been pushed into the center of the company and chafed a little bit at the fact that his fellow Elves wanted him in the center, believing him to be less experienced and therefore at greater risk.

When the Men attacked, they did so from all sides, showering the Elves with arrows from the cover of the scrub that dominated the Dunland landscape.  Most of the arrows were turned by the shields that the Elves bore, but Anomen saw a missile pierce the shoulder of one of Berenmaethor's scouts.  The warrior was not unhorsed, however, and, after a companion had broken off the shaft, the injured Elf looked as battle-ready as ever.

The Elves did not shoot back at their hidden foes, and Glorfindel ordered them to dismount and to create a shield wall, with the horses in the center.  Anomen wormed his way to the front.  The Dunlendings let loose another volley, and Anomen heard a 'thunk' as an arrow struck his shield.  Suddenly he realized that his throat was very dry, but this did not seem to be the time to reach for his water flask.

The Dunlendings let loose a third volley.  The Elves still held their fire, huddled in a circle and protected by their shield wall.  Anomen's stomach lurched as he heard the scream of one horse and then another.  Whether by accident or design, the Dunlendings had overshot the Elves, their arrows landing amongst the horses.   

 After the third volley, the Dunlendings must have concluded that the band of Elves was no match for their vastly larger numbers.  From behind the bushes leaped a seemingly endless number of rudely dressed but heavily armed men, each swinging a sword as he sprinted to close the distance between himself and an Elf.

Many of the Men never made it.  Once the Dunlendings broke cover, the Elves let loose their own volley of arrows.  But there were too many Men for the elven archers to bring them all down, and after that one volley, the Elves found themselves locked in hand-to-hand combat, several Men to each Elf.  The Elves responded by breaking into pairs, each Elf covering the back of another.  Anomen found himself fighting back to back with Thoron, who felled three Men whilst Anomen was still ineffectively parrying with his opponents.

"Anomen," gasped Thoron, "sorry to trouble you, but would you be so good as to _kill_ someone.   This is _not_ a garden party."

"I'm trying," panted Anomen, "but they keep ducking."

"How inconsiderate of them—ugh—scraped my sword on that one's belt buckle."

"Uh, uh, uh," wheezed Anomen.  "Don't do that, Thoron.  I'm the one who'll have to polish it!"

Suddenly Anomen realized that he was quite calm in spite of the fact that he was facing four Men, each of whom was trying in his own way to slice him into ribbons.  They were actually competing with one another to see who could bring him down, and that, he saw, was all to the good.  They fought each other with no method, each getting in the way of his fellows.  As one Man lunged toward Anomen, a second Man inadvertently tripped the first.  The two fell together to the earth, and Anomen thrust his sword forward into the chest of a third Man who suddenly found himself standing unprotected before Anomen, his sword held out uselessly to the side.

For a moment time stopped as the Man, too shocked to yet feel pain, stared into Anomen's eyes.  Then Anomen gathered his wits and with all his strength yanked his sword from the Man's chest.  It was then that the Dunlending screamed, one long, high-pitched howl of agony as he collapsed to the ground, the blood spurting from his wound.  Anomen, however, had already turned his attention to his remaining foes.  He brought his sword down upon the head of one of the Men who was trying to rise from the ground, and with another swing he half-decapitated the other.  That left him facing one foe, who began to back away from Anomen.  Should he follow and finish the job?  Anomen took a step forward.  The Man dropped his sword and knelt upon the ground, arms raised into the air.  Anomen approached him to take his weapon; as Anomen bent down before him, the man suddenly leaped up, knocking the young Elf to the ground and pinning him down.  The Dunlending drew a knife and raised it to plunge into Anomen's chest—and Anomen was showered with blood as Thoron, with one powerful stroke, struck the Man's head from his body. 

            Thoron pulled his shaken friend from under the headless body.  Glorfindel strode up then, looking concerned as he gazed at the blood-smeared Anomen.

            "Are you badly hurt, Anomen?"

            "I am not hurt at all."

            "You certainly look as if you've been to Mordor and back."

            "It's not my blood.  It's—somebody else's."

            "A Dunlending's?"

            "Yes."

            Said Glorfindel bluntly, "Better his blood than yours—and I want you to remember that if you are ever tempted to vacillate in the middle of battle."

            "Yes, Lord Glorfindel," Anomen replied meekly.

            "Now, given the mess you are in—the mess that we are all in—you are certainly going to need to fetch a great deal of water tonight, are you not?"

"Yes, Lord Glorfindel."

"Then I suggest you begin at once.  The sooner a task is begun, the sooner it is ended."

Glorfindel spun about abruptly and went off to check on the well-being of his other warriors.

Thoron pointed after him with his chin.  "Glorfindel never misses an opportunity to teach you a lesson, does he?"

"No," Anomen said gratefully.  "No, he does not."


	4. Simple Needs

Only a small number of the Dunlendings had survived the battle, and few of those were uninjured.  The leader of the Dunlendings was one of the latter.  With bound hands, he stood sullenly before Glorfindel and Erestor, who wished to question him as to why the Dunlendings had not let them pass unmolested, as they had been wont to do in the past.

Erestor began the interrogation.  "We desired only to journey through this land.  We had not troubled you or your kinfolks; nor had we damaged your homes, crops, or cattle.  Why then did you attack us, to your great loss?"

"We had cause," the leader muttered.

Glorfindel spoke up.  "I know of no cause.  We do not come into your land unless we are on our way elsewhere.  We do not rob or enslave you or harm you in any way.  What then is this cause that you claim to have?"

"Is murder not a just cause?" snarled the leader.  "May we not avenge the death of our hunters who ventured into the forest of Imladris and never returned?"

Glorfindel replied calmly.  "I believe I know of whom you speak.  Was one of these hunters named 'Ceorl'?"

"Ah, so you admit you died at your hands," crowed the Man triumphantly.

"I admit nothing of the sort—but if he and his fellows had died at our hands, their fate would have been just.  For if strangers came into your land and tried to enslave your young ones, would you not retaliate?"

The Man stood silent.  For this he had no answer.

"They deserved to die at our hands, but that was not how they met their end.  They were betrayed and slain by the Southrons whom they had agreed to guide into Imladris."

Although he was uncouth, the leader was not unintelligent.  Instinctively he knew that the elf-lord spoke the truth.  Great was his anguish as he realized that he had led his people into hopeless battle to avenge an offense that had never taken place.  He paled and swayed on his feet.

Erestor reached out his hand to steady him.  "No doubt this will be little consolation, but know that the slayers of the hunters have themselves been slain."

The leader looked up.  "At whose hand did they die?"

Erestor nodded toward Glorfindel.  "At his hand and at the hands of his warriors."

The leader gave a tight smile.  "You have slain the greater part of our people, but we must perforce be grateful because you have avenged others of our folk.  Now doubly bitter is our plight."

Said Glorfindel sternly, "You yourself forced us into battle; let the Valar witness that we fought most unwillingly."

The leader nodded; there was nothing else to say.  

Glorfindel cut the leader's bonds and ordered that the other prisoners be set free.  Once they were set at liberty, the Dunlendings slipped away into the brush.

"They will be back to bury their dead," said Erestor.  "Even though it is dark, let us push onward so that we may camp well away from this scene of desolation."

"I think," said Glorfindel, "that never again will the Dunlendings attack peaceful travelers."  Glorfindel spoke truly—and Anomen would be grateful years hence, when, in the company of eight companions, he would once again have occasion to enter Dunland.

That night, though, sitting by a dying campfire, Anomen gave no thought to the future.  He was thinking of the Dunlending whose throat he had cut.  Glorfindel had not mentioned that one of the hunters had indeed been slain by an Elf.  Had Glorfindel forgotten?  Or had he merely chosen not to mention a fact that would have confirmed the Dunlending's prejudice?

Thoron noticed his brooding silence.  "You are troubled, Anomen."

"I was thinking of the death of the Dunlendings today and—that other time."

Thoron looked shrewdly at Anomen.  "Tell me, Anomen, do you think I did wrong today, when that Man had you at his mercy?  After all, I came up behind him and hacked off his head.  He was oblivious to his danger and had no chance to defend himself."

Anomen sighed.  "No, you did right."

"I am glad you think so.  Remember, Anomen, you are no murderer, regardless of what that Dunlending thought."

Anomen nodded somberly.  "I know, Thoron; I just wish that—that we did not have to do certain thinks."

"I wish so as well, Anomen.  But mark well what Glorfindel said: we were forced into battle.  The Dunlendings had every chance to break off the assault and did not do so.  They chose their fate."

Mithrandir had said something similar, thought Anomen, and he smiled gratefully at Thoron.  It suddenly came to him that he was still thirsty.  The Dunlendings were dead, and that could not be helped, but he _could_ do something about his dry throat.  He was also hungry.  He lifted up his flask and let the water cascade onto his face and into his mouth.  Then he reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a packet of lembas.  Watching him, Thoron smiled.  Life was made up of these simple acts, the ones that must be performed no matter what the circumstances.  It was good to see that Anomen understood this.  They were warriors, but warriors had the same basic needs as other folk.

Anomen interrupted Thoron's musings.  "Thoron, I need to step into the brush for a moment.  I will be back momentarily."

Thoron laughed with such amusement that other Elves turned to look at him.

"What is so funny?" asked a bewildered Anomen.

Thoron shook his head.  "Never mind me.  I was tallying the needs of the warrior, and you reminded me of one that I had left off the list."

Shortly thereafter, Anomen, having satisfied his latest 'need', was curled up in his bedroll and sleeping as comfortably as one could when on the march.  Glorfindel was making the rounds of the camp and stopped to speak with Thoron.

"He sleeps untroubled by any dreams?"

"Yes, Glorfindel.  During his waking hours, however, he sometimes thinks overmuch—I never met an Elf with so many scruples."

"As long as his scruples do not cause him to hesitate during battle—that could be fatal for both himself and his companions."

"That is true, of course, but, Glorfindel, Anomen will never be at ease as a warrior until he has found answers to his questions."

"I know, Thoron.  I only hope that he will have the time to do so.  Like all of us, he may soon be thrown into such peril that he will need to act decisively, with no regard to his scruples."

"…need to act decisively…"  The words echoed in Thoron's head long after Glorfindel had gone to his rest.  "Would that all needs were simple," Thoron whispered sadly to himself.


	5. A Warg In The Hand

All of the Elves felt great relief when they left Dunland behind them and entered the territory of the Rohirrim.  True to their word, the horse masters awaited them, their encampment marked by the wind-whipped banners of a horse running on a green field.  Anomen looked about eagerly for the Man who had given him the liberty of Rohan years earlier but was disappointed to learn that he was on a mission elsewhere in the realm.

The Elves sent up their own camp within sight of the Rohirrim's, and Anomen spent one night there before he departed for Isengard.  That night Erestor and Glorfindel had entrusted him with a letter signed by Elrond, as well as a second one in Mithrandir's strong but elegant script. Said Erestor, "You will no doubt need to remain several days in Isengard whilst Saruman considers his answer.  We will wait for your return."

"Yes, Lord Erestor."

"But linger for no other reason," added Glorfindel.  "No doubt after the rigors of this journey, you will find the comforts of Isengard to be enticing."

"I will hasten back as soon as I may," Anomen assured the two Elves.

Glorfindel said sternly, "See that you do."

Anomen wondered whether Glorfindel thought that Anomen would drag out his stay at Isengard in order to avoid his chores for as long as possible.  In truth, however, Anomen had no desire to stay in Isengard a day longer than necessary.

Only Thoron rode with Anomen to the eaves of the forest of Fangorn.  The Rohirrim had been sweeping the plains near their encampment for several weeks and could say with certainty that no foes were present for several leagues on all sides.  For the sake of companionship alone did Thoron accompany Anomen. 

Thoron had looked back doubtfully at the forest when he parted from Anomen, but the younger Elf felt no fear when he was left alone with the trees.  He sensed that deep within the forest some darkness lay, but he perceived that the trees closest to him were friendly to most two-legged creatures.  They were, he felt, particularly well-disposed to Elves.  He wondered whether he would encounter any Ents.  Elves in Rivendell had lately been saying that the tree herders had at last passed from Middle Earth into the realm of legend.  Anomen hoped that this was not true.

Anomen had sent his horse back with Thoron because it would have been difficult to lead, let alone ride, a horse through this ancient forest.  For a long time he walked on with no companion other than the occasional bird and squirrel.  Gradually, however, he realized that some other creature was nearby.  But what it was he could not make out.  He began to feel that some force was blocking his ability to speak with the trees.  It was as if a fog were muffling the sounds that usually echoed within his mind.  What were the trees thinking?  Was this creature a threat or no?  He could not tell.

Suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, a large and heavy creature catapulted out of the undergrowth and sprang at Anomen.  For the first time in his life, the young Elf found himself with no time to react.  He was knocked over and pinned by the creature, its weight bearing down heavily upon his chest and arms.

Anomen found himself lying on his back and looking up into the jaws of a slavering warg, shreds of flesh dangling from its yellowed teeth, its breath stinking of putrefaction.  He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to fill his mind with the faces of his friends, for he did not want to depart Middle Earth with his mind darkened by the image of that cruel beast.  He waited, calm, a kaleidoscope of smiling visages swirling behind his closed eyelids.  Slowly he became aware that the clearing had fallen silent and that the weight of the warg had lifted from him.  He opened his eyes to find an aged Man looking down at him with an expression of amusement upon his face.

"I know you, do I not?" said the Man. "Were you not my guest in Isengard a few centuries ago?"

            "Lord Saruman?"

            The wizard inclined his head in acknowledgement.

            "I believe you said your name was Anomen—was that not so?"

            "Yes, Lord Saruman."

            "Do you plan to spend the night in this clearing?"

"No, Lord Saruman."

"Then I suggest you arise.  You might also want to brush yourself off.  You appear to be a trifle dirty."

 Bewildered, Anomen stood up and brushed off the dust, twigs, and leaves as best he could.

            "My Lord, there was a warg!"

"Oh, do not trouble yourself about that."  The wizard waved his hand dismissively.

"But wargs are fell creatures—"

"Only to those who cannot control them.  A dog may rend one's flesh; a horse may trample a man.  Do we shun such creatures?  No, we tame them and make use of them."

"A warg is neither a dog nor a horse.  A warg is altogether evil—like the Orcs who are their allies!"

"There is nothing that cannot be turned to account by he who has the wisdom and strength of mind to do so.  There is no creature, no plant, no metal, no weapon or jewel or ring, that a man may not command."

"Even an Orc, my Lord?"

"Yes, even an Orc.  For if such beasts can be controlled by the cruel and the degenerate, then how much the better could they be controlled by the wise and the noble."

Anomen shook his head.  "I cannot believe that any good could come of making use of the tools of the enemy."

"If your sword broke during battle, would you not seize upon the nearest weapon—even if that sword had fallen from the grasp of one of your foes?  In such a case, if you disdained the weapon of your enemy, like as not you would be slain—is this not so?"

Anomen remembered back to the time when he had been journeying from Greenwood to Lothlórien and had been forced to use an Orc scimitar to defend himself.  How could he deny the truth of Saruman's words when he himself had made use of the devices of the enemy?  And when he had battled the Dunlendings, had he not used devices of the enemy in another sense—had he not hacked and stabbed and slashed?

"But no doubt," said Saruman, breaking into Anomen's thoughts, "you think me a sophist for engaging in such banter when you surely have traveled far and must long for sustenance and shelter.  Come, I will gladly be your host once again—for you must remember that I told you that you would always be welcome at Isengard."

"Ah," thought Anomen with relief, "so Saruman's words are no more than a species of wordplay.  So wise a man as he must sometimes entertain himself by constructing clever arguments.  In truth, he would not _really try to make use of Orcs and wargs or any other such tools of the enemy."_

Thus Anomen tried to convince himself that Saruman was yet a sound ally.  Still, he could not deny that he had been startled by the intensity of Saruman's expression as the Istar had talked of adopting the devices of his foes.  It took quite an effort for Anomen to put the matter out of his mind.  


	6. An Attempted Seduction

The next morning, Anomen broke fast with Saruman, who was as solicitous and attentive as he had been during Anomen's first stay.  Once again Saruman gently questioned Anomen about all of his doings, no matter how trivial, and he inquired after the well-being of Elrond and his offspring.  As they talked, Anomen found himself lowering his guard and speaking more freely than he did to anyone other than Mithrandir.  All at once, however, he was startled by the entrance of a servant who looked as if he were as much Goblin as Man.  He could not help but stare as the half-goblin refilled Saruman's glass.  The wizard noticed Anomen's reaction.  After the servant left the room, Saruman said, "You seem to be fascinated by my servant.  Why is that so?"

"My Lord, forgive me, but he looked like, rather like—he looked like a goblin!"

Saruman studied him gravely.  "So I have heard it said.  Men will not endure him because they say he is Goblin-kind; the Goblins drive him away because they say he is a Man.  I, however, have found employment for him."

"But, my Lord, if he is part-goblin, is he not to be feared?"

"He has served me well.  Yes, he has served me quite well.  I have no lack of tasks for which he is well-suited."

"He has served you well thus far, but can you trust him, my Lord?"

Saruman looked at Anomen reproachfully.  "I am surprised at you, Anomen.  Surely you, who have been an outcast, must appreciate how grievous a thing it is to be kinless and friendless.  You are grateful, are you not, to have been taken in by Lord Elrond, even though you cannot give a proper account of yourself?"  

Chastened, Anomen could only nod.

"And did you think that your Lord Elrond was the only one who took in those who wander houseless and masterless?"

Anomen shook his head.  Unable to meet the eye of the wizard, he intently studied the design on the rim of his plate.  He could feel his face flush.

The wizard said no more for a few minutes, then reached over and gently raised Anomen's chin until the young Elf was looking at him once again.

"Do not take my rebuke to heart, Anomen.  Surely you have been chided by Elrond from time to time—as a father chides his son."

Anomen nodded.

"Then know that my words are offered in the same spirit—to guide you towards wisdom."

Anomen finally found his voice.  "Thank you, my Lord Saruman."

Saruman laughed.  "Always so formal, yondo-nya.  Well, well, I will let that pass for now, but you must not always address me as 'Lord Saruman'."

After breakfast, Anomen was left free to roam at will.  The gate to the Ring of Isengard stood open, but the Elf feared to leave the seeming safety of Saruman's stronghold.  Something in the forest surrounding the Ring had opposed its will to his and prevented him from sensing the approach of the Warg until it was too late for him to defend himself.  Anomen shuddered when he thought of what might have happened had Saruman not been nearby!  Surely he owed Saruman a great debt of gratitude.

A second day passed, and a third, and Saruman made no mention of replying to the letters from Elf and Istar.  As a fourth day passed, Anomen began to wonder whether he ought to try to hint—_diplomatically, of course—that Mithrandir and Elrond had hoped for a quick answer.  He resolved to broach the subject at dinner.  Before he could do so however, Saruman began to speak of Anomen's life in Imladris._

"From what you have told me these past few days, you have found favor in Rivendell.  You have won the respect and esteem of many—not the least the Lord of Imladris himself.  Yet you do not speak of the rewards that you have received for your service."

"Rewards, my Lord?"

"Recompense—have you received no recompense?"

"The Lord Elrond has fed me and clothed me, arranged for my training, and provided me with bow and sword—is that what you mean?"

"He has then done no more than provide for your barest needs?"

"I lack nothing."

"From what you say, you possess little more than the clothes on your back.  I am surprised that the Lord Elrond has not treated you with greater generosity.  Surely it is within his means to reward you as you deserve."

"He has treated me like a son.  I share a room with Elladan and Elrohir and train alongside them."

"So he cannot spare you a room of your own.  I had thought that his Hall was much grander than that—more on the scale of Orthanc."

Saruman walked to a window and peered out at the Ring of Isengard.  When he turned back toward Anomen, his face was full of concern.

"Anomen—yondo-nya—I fear for your future.  Elrond is known for taking in the fatherless and friendless and making the most of them.  But what will you do when your place is usurped by his next fosterling?"

Anomen had given no thought to that question.  Elrond had taken him in, but he had given others shelter in the past and was likely to do so in the future.  What would that mean to him?

"My Lord, I am underage but will not always be so.  I will of course not always be Elrond's fosterling.  Even his own sons will not always need him to act the parent."

"Yet they will always be his sons; will you always be his foster-son?"

"I do not know," admitted Anomen.  "But I am sure he will always be a friend to me."

Saruman pondered Anomen's answer.  When he spoke again, his manner was less gentle, more forthright.

"I will speak plainly with you.  I have need of an emissary, someone capable of carrying messages between Isengard and Edoras, the seat of the King of Rohan."

"Surely any of the Men in your employ would serve for such a task."

"Ah, but I need more than a simple messenger.  I need someone who can observe carefully and report back faithfully."

"Those skills are found in many."

"But not all men can ingratiate themselves into the hearts of others.  I need someone with a trustworthy appearance who will be well-received wherever he goes.  You, my young friend, are polite, well-spoken, and goodly in appearance.  You would find a ready welcome in Edoras.  You would be trusted.  Indeed, no doubt in time you would be welcomed into their councils.  You would then be able to keep me informed of the thoughts of the king and his counselors; perhaps in time you would be able to shape those thoughts—with my guidance, of course.  You will be well-rewarded not only by me but by the Rohirrim, who will be indebted to you for your words of advice.  Is this prospect not an appealing one?"

"No, my Lord.  It is not."

Both Saruman and Anomen were surprised at the bluntness of his answer.  Briefly Saruman looked as if his face were a mask that was slipping, and for a fleeting moment Anomen thought that the Istar would raise his staff and strike him.  Then the wizard recovered himself.  Softly he spoke, a smile on his face, "So you seek to prove to me that you are not always well-spoken.  But by doing so you only demonstrate your discretion.  I say again, you would make an excellent emissary—indeed are you not an emissary now, from Elrond and Mithrandir to me?  _They_ know your potential worth, even if they have not bothered to enlighten _you.  But I will not deceive you so, making use of your talents even as I hide from you your own worth." _

"You do both Elrond and Mithrandir an injustice.  They have been generous with their praise."

"But only with their praise."

"Lord Saruman, I am yet underage.  An apprentice is entitled to clothing, food, and training—nothing more."

"True, true, that is the least that a master must provide his apprentice, but nothing prevents a master from proffering more—unless, of course, he grudges sharing his fortune with those who labor to keep him in comfort."

Anomen was angry now.  He would not listen to Saruman denigrate the Elf who had taken him in and treated him with the greatest of forbearance.  He arose from his seat.

"Lord Saruman, you must excuse me.  I am still tired from my journey and wish to retire."

"Of course, yondo-nya.  I wish you to be comfortable here—now and always."

Shaken and uneasy, Anomen retreated to his room. He sensed that a point of crisis had been reached.  The next morning, he decided, he would gamble all at one throw.

Anomen kept his resolution.  He waited impatiently as breakfast was served, then after the servant had left—a Man this time, not the half-goblin, Anomen noticed—he commenced.

"Lord Saruman, if I do not return soon, Glorfindel and Erestor will be displeased."

Saruman said, "It is a long journey between here and Imladris, and a traveler is subject to many vicissitudes that prevent an exact reckoning of his day of return.  Surely the Elves in Rivendell will not be concerned if you enjoy a few more days of hospitality here in Isengard."

"But I do not return directly to Rivendell.  I parted from my company only at the border of Fangorn forest.  Glorfindel and Erestor and their warriors camp an easy ride from that place, next to an encampment of Rohirrim.  Glorfindel knows very well that I should rejoin them in under a week."  With that latter statement, Anomen was taking liberties with the truth, for Glorfindel had not specified a time.  Still, it seemed prudent to say something of the sort, and Anomen was certain a week was a reasonable estimate of the time that Glorfindel would have expected him to be gone.

Saruman looked startled.  "Glorfindel, the balrog-slayer, is camped well nigh on my doorstep?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"As is Elrond's councilor, Erestor?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"I wonder," mused Saruman, "why, being so close, they did not see fit to turn aside to deliver the messages themselves."  He looked sharply at Anomen.

"They are negotiating with the Rohirrim.  I play no part in those negotiations.  Being but the youngest of the warriors, I could well be spared as a runner of errands.  Moreover, I have been to Isengard before and knew the way.  None other in our company had."

"Negotiating with the Rohirrim, you say.  What is the subject of these negotiations?"

"To arrange an exchange of studs for the strengthening of our respective herds."

Saruman had assumed a rigid stance; now he visibly relaxed.  "So they do not draw up a treaty of mutual aid.  No agreement to come to one another's aid in the event of an attack?"

 "No, my Lord."

Saruman arose and strolled to the window.  "So Elrond has not sent you alone and friendless these many miles.  The balrog-slayer himself is your escort, and mayhap he will come looking for you before too long.  Well, well, Elrond does take care of his tools."

Anomen's anger flared.  "I am not the tool of Elrond!"

"You do his bidding.  One who does the bidding of another is that other's tool, is that not so?  If you do not wish to be his tool, then leave his service."

"To become your tool?" Anomen asked sarcastically.

"To become a well-rewarded member of my household, yes."

"I desire none of the rewards that you have the power to grant."

"Mayhap you are too young to appreciate the rewards that I proffer.  The time of the Elves has begun to pass.  East and West their realms are under assault from dark forces that will only strengthen with the passing of days.  If you cast your lot with Elrond Half-Elven, it will be your doom to fade with the others.  I offer you instead sanctuary in a place that will remain standing when the last tree of Middle Earth has rotted into dust."  Saruman gestured grandly toward the ebony-black walls that surrounded them.  "I say to you, Anomen, son of no man, do not rashly cast aside this opportunity."

"I think," said Anomen, "that you underestimate the power of the trees."

Saruman laughed, but it was not the sound of mirth.  "Ah, Anomen, you will be wise someday, but now you speak nonsense.  The trees have no power!  They await those who bear axes—as you will, if you do not grow less stubborn!"

"My Lord, I must return to my companions—with or without your reply to the Lords Elrond and Mithrandir.  You have many Men in your employ; you may send one of them with a message when it seems good to you to do so."

Saruman shook his head, and for a moment Anomen was afraid that the Istar would refuse outright to let him depart from Isengard.  But the wizard merely said, "If you are so resolved, I shall not hinder you.  For my purposes, you will be a useful servant only if you are a willing one.  But perhaps one day you shall indeed be willing."

Inwardly, Anomen said, "Never!"  Outwardly, however, he nodded politely.  "With your leave, then, my Lord, I will prepare to return to my companions."

The next morning, to his immense relief, Anomen found two letters, sealed with Saruman's device—a hand, its fingers outspread—lying beside his plate when he joined the wizard for breakfast.

"So you take your leave this morning?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Saruman sighed, as if with concern.  "As I told you the last time you enjoyed my hospitality, you will always have a place here.  It is a pity you feel that you must return to a realm that is doomed."

"My Lord, that doom may be a long time in coming—if it ever comes at all."

"Oh, be sure that it will arrive—whether sooner or later, Imladris shall fall, as will Greenwood and Lothlórien.  Elrond knows this, as does Mithrandir.  I am surprised two such wise ones do not put their interests first, knowing what they do."

"Mayhap because they _are wise," Anomen answered obstinately._

Saruman shook his head, a weary look on his face, as if he grieved for his friends' ill-choices.

"Truly I must have a talk with Mithrandir some day—to try to make him see reason."

With that, Saruman arose.  "A safe journey to you, my young friend.  I hope that on your return to your companions you do not encounter any foe—such as a stray warg.  Of course, if you do come across such a creature, remember that he who is wise and strong-minded can control all beasts."  The Istar had an amused look on his face.  Anomen was reminded that Saruman had looked so when the wizard had found Anomen sprawled on the ground at the mercy of the warg.

Mindful that at least one such fell creature lurked in Fangorn Forest, Anomen hastily scrambled into the first tree he came to after he passed through the gate that breached the Ring of Isengard.  He did not plan to put to the test Saruman's airy assurances that the beast could be mastered!  He would put his trust in the forest canopy.

From tree to tree the Elf gracefully leaped.  He was relieved that no force seemed to be trying to block his ability to hear the trees, for he knew the warg was on the prowl long before he could have heard the beast.  A stiff breeze was blowing, and the trees whispered that the warg was downwind and had picked up his scent. 

Anomen paused where he was, pondering his next move.  As long as he kept to the trees, the warg would be unable to reach him, but he did not want to be pursued by a warg across the open plain of Rohan once he came to the end of Fangorn Forest.  He decided to remain where he was.  He would allow the warg to catch up to him and would slay it from the cover of the tree.  Anomen strung his bow, fitted an arrow to the string, and settled himself in a good position.

Before too long, the young Elf could hear the rustling of branches and the snapping of fallen limbs.  Soon he could see the movement of branches as well, and then he heard a low growling.  The warg pushed out from some bushes, sniffed the air, and then swung its muzzle from size to side, snarling in disappointment.  From the odor, the warg knew it should be right on top of its prey.  It never dreamed that its prey was in fact right on top of _it_.   Quietly Anomen drew his bow and released his arrow.  It struck the warg in the throat.  The beast gave one hideous, strangled howl, leaped into the air, then collapsed onto the ground.  Its legs jerked once or twice; then it lay still.

 To Anomen's horror, the warg's howl was immediately answered by shrieks and hoots.  The warg had not been alone in the forest.  Anomen heard loud snapping and cracking noises as some undoubtedly large and deadly creatures forced their way through the forest, heading straight toward him.  He flattened himself on his perch.  Within minutes a dozen Orcs, accompanied, Anomen noticed with interest, by one half-goblin, stumbled into the space underneath his tree.  They gathered around the body of the warg and jabbered excitedly.

"Musta been killed by that Elf what came through not so long ago.  Let's track 'im and slice 'im into strips—be handy for snackin' on the march."

"The master said to let 'im pass," growled the half-goblin, who seemed to be in charge.  "Said we was t'attend t'other matters."

"But I'm hungry," whined one Orc.

"Look, you idiot," the half-goblin sneered, "there's a dead warg lying right in front of you.  Not as tender as Elf, but it'll fill your maggoty belly."

The other Orcs hooted in ridicule at the Orc that had complained of hunger, and they began to hack at the warg carcass with their scimitars.  Feeling sick, Anomen closed his eyes and clung tightly to the tree trunk.  Thankfully, the Orcs were crude butcherers but quick ones.  Within minutes, each Orc had one huge slab of warg to chew on and another to sling over its shoulder.  Leaving behind cracked bones, shredded skin, and fragments of brain, the Orcs tramped off.

Anomen remained in the tree for several more minutes, trying to breathe normally and waiting for his heart to slow.  As he huddled in the tree, he considered returning to Isengard.  "Should I not," he wondered, "warn Saruman that Orcs are within a day's march of Isengard?  Should I not tell him that a half-goblin like to the one in his service is an ally of those Orcs?  And should I not tell him that they serve some power even greater than they—some nameless 'master'?"  After debating with himself for some time, he suddenly decided that he would do no such thing.  Defiantly, he said to himself, "Saruman thinks he can manage anyone or anything—well, then, let him manage these Orcs.  I'm going to look after my _own skin!"  (With that latter thought, Anomen was, of course, being excruciatingly literal.)  It was the most selfish decision the young Elf had ever made, and he felt nary a scruple about it.  Had they known, Glorfindel and Thoron would have been proud of him.  And far away, in Lothlórien, the Lady Galadriel smiled as she gazed into the limpid waters of her mirror._

TBC


	7. Council In Lothlorien

Thank you again, _dragonfly32_ and _Tinnuial_.

This episode plays off the fact that Galadriel wanted Gandalf rather than Saruman to head the Council.

Anomen had made it to the edge of Fangorn Forest without encountering any further obstacles.  For that he was relieved.  He was disappointed, however, at having seen no trace of any Ents.  Perhaps, he thought sadly, it was true that the Ents now were no more than a memory.  He had nursed the hope that he might renew his acquaintance with the ancient tree herder whom he met so many years before when he first entered Fangorn Forest.  With a regretful sigh, he turned his steps away from the woods and made his way back toward the elven encampment.

Thoron was dawdling about the edge of the camp, looking hopefully toward the north.  With his excellent elven vision, he spied Anomen whilst he was still many leagues distant.  He leaped onto his horse and, leading Anomen's mount, galloped out to greet him.

"Mae govannen, Thoron!" Anomen cried out with enthusiasm as he friend pulled up before him!  Mae govannen!"

"Anomen, what has kept you?  The negotiations with the Rohirrim were concluded two days ago, and Glorfindel and Erestor have been fretting at your delay.  Indeed, I think you will be lucky if Glorfindel does not skin you!"

"Ugh!  Pray do not talk to me of skinning!"  Quickly Anomen told his friend of his encounter with the warg and the subsequent fate of the carcass."

Thoron shuddered.  "What disgusting beasts Orcs are—imagine dining on warg."

"Better warg than Elf!" declared Anomen, his spirits soaring now that he had been reunited with his friend.

"True, very true," laughed Thoron.  "And Glorfindel will make allowances for your delay once he learns that you were treed by those beasts.  How long did you have to remain hidden?"

Anomen turned sober again.  "That accounted for very little of the delay."

"Then what did keep you?"

"I was kept by a wizard—and he would have kept me even longer!"

"Ah," said Thoron sympathetically.  "It is impossible to hurry a wizard.  It is said that a wizard is never late and never early but always on time—for it is only the wizard who decides what being 'on time' consists of.  Remind Glorfindel of that if he begins to sharpen his blade!"

The two Elves laughed.  Anomen mounted his horse, and they rode to the camp, laughing and singing as if there weren't a warg in the world.  Glorfindel saw them coming from afar.  He was relieved to see Anomen returning safe and in good spirits.  "But," he thought to himself, "it wouldn't do to let the scamp know _that_."  And so, when Anomen dismounted he found himself confronted by a balrog-slayer whose face was an impassive mask.

"I am glad that you have seen fit to rejoin us," he said dryly.  "Did you enjoy your stay at Isengard?"

"I found it to be—confining."

"Oh?  I warrant, though, that you didn't miss your chores."

"No, I cannot say that I did—and the food in Isengard is much better than camp food.  Oh, yes, the accommodations were far superior, and—"

"I think," interrupted Glorfindel, "that the warriors have just supped.  You will find several pots that need scouring just to the other side of that tent."  With that Glorfindel turned on his heel and strode off.

Thoron laughed, "There now—that's what you get for being cheeky.  Next time grovel a little."  Anomen took a swipe at him with his bow.

"If Glorfindel sees you doing that with your bow, he will have your head," called Thoron as he evaded the blow and retreated.  "If you finish cleaning before midnight, stop by my tent and tell me more of your adventures."

Anomen was finished well before midnight, but as he made his way across the camp toward his friend's shelter, he was spotted by Glorfindel, who told him that, unless he were on watch, he should be resting.  "We break camp early tomorrow.  As we are no longer forced to wait for a certain tardy Elf, we will make haste to Lothlórien, where we have been expected these many days."

Defeated by the vigilance of the balrog-slayer, that certain tardy Elf resigned himself to becoming reacquainted with his bedroll after several days of reveling in the comfort of a feather bed.

Glorfindel was as good as his word.  They broke camp before dawn and ate a quick bite of cold food as they stood by their stirrups.  Anomen resumed his usual place near the end of the column, glad to be out of the eye of both wizard and elf-lord.

The remainder of their journey to Lothlórien was uneventful.  They rode at a quick pace, but there was no sign of warg or Orc or any other fell creature.  After several days, they entered the fringes of the golden forest of Lórien.  There Glorfindel ordered them to dismount.  Anomen knew that the watchful Galadhrim had surely been observing their approach; no doubt numerous scouts were hidden in the trees awaiting instructions as to how to deal with the band of strange Elves.  Glorfindel knew this as well, hence his order that they dismount and go no further.

After a little while, one of the Galadhrim at last revealed himself.  Anomen recognized him at once.  "Haldir!" Anomen blurted out.  Glorfindel and Erestor looked disapprovingly at him.

"Excuse the impetuousness of the youngest member of our company," said Erestor, bowing to Haldir, who, from his garb, was a Marchwarden.  "He knows nothing of protocol."

"For my part, I pardon him," replied Haldir graciously.  "Come.  I have been commanded to escort you to Caras Galadhon.  The Lord and Lady have commanded that a feast be held in honor of you and your companions.  I hope," he said, turning to Anomen, "that you have brought a good appetite.  I seem to remember that you were very hungry the last time you visited our realm."

Haldir smirked slightly, and Anomen blushed, remembering how he had hidden food in his pack before sneaking out of Haldir's talan.

When the Rivendell Elves arrived at the talan of Celeborn and Galadriel, Anomen tried his best to keep out of sight.  He wished he had not been so thoughtless as to bring himself to Haldir's attention, for he was sure the Marchwarden would tell them of the return of the guest who had absconded from their land.  Given his former behavior, he did not look forward to an audience with the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien.

Ai! The Lord and Lady were not to be denied.  The next morning, soon after Anomen had broken fast, Haldir, accompanied by his brothers Rúmil and Orophin, arrived to inform Anomen that he was summoned to the talan of the Lord and Lady.  Rúmil and Orophin looked Anomen over with great interest.

"So," said Rúmil, "this is the one who ran off that night.  I was on guard duty at the border and saw an Elfling creeping away, but I had received orders to allow him to pass.  So you were that Elfling."

Anomen had been very proud of the fact that he had evaded the guardians of Lothlórien that night.  He was chagrined to learn that he had not done so—that he had been allowed to escape and could have easily been apprehended.

"I wonder," mused Orophin, "why you were ordered to let him go.  Well, the Lord and Lady had their reasons, no doubt."

Bidding farewell to Haldir and Anomen, the two went off to take up their duties.  As soon as they were gone, Haldir said to Anomen teasingly, "Shall I bind you to guarantee your appearance, or will you come along willingly?"

Anomen blushed again, and Haldir laughed.

"Haldir," Anomen apologized, "I am truly sorry for betraying your hospitality."

"Oh, do not be troubled," Haldir reassured him.  "It is true that I had to put up with quite a bit of chaffing when it was discovered that the Elfling who slept so long on my talan was in fact a roll of fur and wool.  'Hasn't he woken up yet, Haldir?  Hasn't he woken up?'  That's all I heard until the turning of the month!  And at first I was afraid that the Lord and Lady would think me remiss in my duty.  As it turns out, they knew perfectly well what you were up to!  I tried to apologize, but the Lady said there was no need."

Anomen felt a little green but forced himself to grin.  It seemed that both he and Haldir had been tricked—and by the same Elves!  And now once again he was to face the Lord and Lady who had been able to read him so well the last time he had ventured into the land of Lórien!  Ai!

With great trepidation, Anomen mounted the stairs that led up to the grand talan of the Lord and Lady.  Sitting with them were Glorfindel and Erestor and one other figure whose back was to Anomen.  When Anomen stepped forward, however, this figure twisted in his chair.

"Mithrandir!"

"Mae govannen, Anomen."

Anomen could only again utter, "Mithrandir!"

Sourly Glorfindel announced, "Anomen has this most peculiar habit of shouting out names upon meeting people."

"Why are you here, Mithrandir?  I thought that you were on your way to Shire."

"_The Shire.  I have been there and back again.  My business was simple.  I merely had to introduce a Perrianath to a company of Dwarves.  I will check in on them later, of course, but for the moment they have no need of me."_

"And," added Glorfindel dryly, "Anomen stayed so long at Isengard that Mithrandir had ample time to complete his errand twice over."

"Ah, yes, Isengard."  The Lady spoke now.  She turned to Anomen.  "Tell me, pen-neth, how did you find Saruman?"

"I found him well, Lady."

"That is not what I meant, as you no doubt know."  The Lady's voice was gentle but firm.

"I-I-found him daunting—and a little frightening."

The Istar and assembled Elves questioned Anomen closely about everything he had seen and heard, from the moment he stepped into Fangorn Forest until the moment he left it.  He was quite weary by the time they had finished.

Mithrandir nodded at him.  "That will be all for now, Anomen.  You may go and seek out Haldir, who will see that you are provided with food and drink."

"Yes," smiled the Lady, "and I am sure that Haldir will be careful to make sure that you truly do eat that which is placed before you."

To Anomen's surprise and relief, that was the only time during the interview that either the Lord or the Lady had alluded to Anomen's previous visit to their realm.

After Anomen had left the talan, silent reigned for several minutes.  At last Mithrandir arose to his feet and began to pace back and forth.

"You see, Galadriel, your fears are groundless.  Anomen saw no fell forces assembling at Isengard."

"Still," said Celeborn, "mark how he tried to suborn the young one."

  "Suborn?  That is far too harsh a word.  Is it to be wondered at that Saruman would want Anomen to enter into his service?  Why should he not?"

"He wanted Anomen to spy on the King of Rohan," said Erestor sharply.

"You know as well as I that every ambassador gathers as much information as he may.  There is nothing sinister in that.  No, Galadriel, your suspicions are ill-founded."

Glorfindel spoke up, anger in his voice.  "I do not like the way Saruman spoke of Elrond, implying as he did that Elrond would seek to manipulate and exploit those who come to him for aid!"

Mithrandir sighed.  "I grant that Saruman became somewhat—forceful—in his attempts to persuade Anomen to enter into his service.  But this is nothing as compared to Galadriel's suspicions."

The Lady of the Galadhrim had not yet spoken.  Mithrandir addressed her directly.  "Galadriel, how can you entertain such ill thoughts of Saruman when he saved Anomen's life when the warg would have slain him?"

"I wonder," said the Lady, at last breaking her silence.  "Does it not seem strange to you that Saruman would happen to be there at that time—that the warg and the wizard came upon the scene well nigh simultaneously?"

Mithrandir's face grew dark.  "I hope you do not mean to imply that Saruman was somehow responsible for the warg.  Do we blame Thranduil because spiders infest his realm?  They do not ask his leave!  And," he added, turning to Glorfindel and Erestor, "was Elrond at fault when the Southrons invaded Imladris in search of slaves?"

Said Galadriel softly, "But Thranduil has never talked of allying himself with spiders; nor has Elrond bragged that he can master Orcs and force them to serve him."

"There was some truth in what he said."

"Mithrandir! Do not leave the path of wisdom!" Celeborn declared vehemently.

Mithrandir paused.  When he spoke again, it was in a soft voice.  "Fear not.  I have not forgotten that there are some devices that are altogether evil and may be wielded safely by no one—be he Man, Istar, or Elf.  But you cannot deny that some of our actions do indeed resemble those of the enemy.  They kill; we kill."

Galadriel spoke equally softly.  "We differ in our motives, and that has made all the difference."

The Lady arose then. "Mithrandir, it is true that I cannot prove my suspicions—that they depend upon circumstance only and can be explained away all too easily.  Yet I remain firm in my resolution to propose that _you head the council."_

"You must do so without my consent; I will not seek to supplant the head of my order."

"Very well.  I shall do so without your consent.  Will you at least agree to this: should the others support you as their choice, you will accept the office?"

Mithrandir pondered long.  At last he spoke.  "I do not seek the office.  If circumstances thrust it upon me, I will accept it and do my utmost for the protection of Middle Earth."

Satisfied, Galadriel nodded.  "I knew you would do no less."

TBC 


	8. Dying To Return

            The night before they were to leave Lothlórien, Glorfindel took Thoron aside for a private conversation.

            "Thoron, Anomen is to remain in Lórien whilst we travel on to Greenwood."

            "So I have been told."

            "I do have some further instructions concerning this matter.  If Anomen happens to stray from Lothlórien, do not let it trouble you."

            Thoron's face revealed his confusion.  "I do not understand."

            "If Anomen happens to quietly rejoin the company, please do not draw my attention to that fact."

            "He is to be allowed to disobey Elrond's orders?"

            Glorfindel grimaced at hearing it stated in that fashion.  "Yes.  In this, Elrond is humoring Mithrandir, who insists that it may be needful for Anomen to journey on to Greenwood."

            "I take it that Elrond does not approve."

            "No.  He is afraid that Anomen may remain behind in Greenwood when it comes time to return to Rivendell.  He has grown very fond of Anomen."  Glorfindel paused.  "As have we all."

            Troubled, Thoron lay awake for a time musing over Glorfindel's words.  It was generally understood that Anomen was a refugee from Thranduil's kingdom.  Why then would he wish to return to that realm?  And was it safe for him to reenter Greenwood?  Would something—or someone—compel him to remain if he did so?"

            The next morning, Anomen was nowhere in sight, having said his goodbyes the night before.  The company, minus one, set out.  It took them a day to walk to the eastern borders of Lothlórien, where they camped for the night.  In the morning, their horses restored to them, they began the crossing of the plain that stretched between the Misty Mountains and the forest of Greenwood.

            As Glorfindel and Thoron were holding their discussion, Haldir was doing his best to entertain Anomen, who was to share his talan until the return of the Rivendell Elves.  Haldir had been mortified the last time Anomen had been his guest, when the young Elf—really only an elfling then—had succeeded in escaping his hospitality.  He was determined that Anomen would not duplicate his feat.  And so Haldir hovered over Anomen, partly to fulfill his every need, partly to keep a sharp eye on him.  When the younger elf indicated that he wanted to take a bath, Haldir escorted him to a bathing pool and settled himself down on the bank.  Anomen would have none of that, however.

            "Haldir, your pardon, but I am accustomed to bathing in privacy."

            "Ah, I thought that, having been parted from your companions, you would be desirous of company."

            "I thank you for your concern, but I believe I can forgo companionship for the space of time it will take me to wash my hair."

            "Very well, but I do not want to walk all that way back to the talan and then have to return to collect you.  I will sit on the far side of this mallorn tree.  Will that suit you?"

            Anomen sighed.  It would have to do.

            Haldir kept up a nonstop patter of conversation, to which Anomen was forced to reply.  He knew very well that what Haldir was doing.  As long as they engaged in this banter, Haldir would know that Anomen had not slipped off.  Anomen didn't mind.  It didn't matter that Haldir could hear him—just as long as he couldn't _see him._

            Grinning, Anomen unwrapped a mallorn leaf in which lay a number of wine-colored berries.  He crushed them and began to rub their juice into his hair.

            A short while later, Anomen emerged from the pool and pulled on his clothes.

            "You can come out now, Haldir.  I am finished."

            Haldir emerged from behind the tree, and his mouth fell open in shock.  Before him stood a young Elf with dark-brown, almost black, hair.

            "What have you done!?"

            "Oh, my hair.  Yes, well, I guess I should have asked your advice.  I saw some berries that looked like ones I have used in Rivendell to cleanse my hair.  Ai! They were not the same berries at all, and it seems that I have accidentally dyed my hair."

            "Anomen, I am so sorry.  Perhaps the Lady Galadriel will know of some way to remove the dye."

            Anomen waved off the suggestion.  "I would not wish to trouble her over such a minor matter.  The dye will fade eventually, and my hair will grow out.  No, do not concern yourself over this."  He quickly changed the subject.  "I'm hungry.  Have you anything to eat in that talan of yours.  It looked rather bare."

            "I do not prepare food in my talan.  Come, let us join my brothers Rúmil and Orophin.  We generally take turns preparing food in a shelter shared by our patrol.

As the two approached the shelter, they could hear the laughter and singing of several Elves.  They stepped into the clearing and were hailed by Haldir's brothers.

"Mae Govannen, Haldir.  You have missed the cooking, so you must do the cleaning."

Haldir groaned in mock dismay, and Anomen was delighted to see that he was not the only one who bore the burdens of the newly-fledged warrior.

"But," added Rúmil, "perhaps your friend will help you.  I do not believe that we have met him."

The Elves looked at Haldir expectantly, waiting for him to introduce the newcomer.

"But you have met him," exclaimed Haldir.  "This is Anomen."

"Nonsense," scolded Orophin.  "Anomen has golden hair."

"He had an accident whilst bathing," laughed Haldir.

His two brothers peered closely at Anomen.  Rúmil gasped, "Orophin, it _is Anomen!"  He chortled.  "What are you trying to do, Anomen, pass yourself of as a native of Imladris!?"_

Rúmil had hit too close to the mark, and Anomen turned aside the comment with a gibe.  "Well, at least I won't be mistaken for a denizen of Lothlórien," he shot back.  As he had hoped, his friendly taunt distracted Rúmil and his brothers, and the four of them were soon engaged in light-hearted scuffling, which only came to an end when an Elf entered the clearing and called for Haldir.

"Haldir, the Lady Galadriel requests your presence."

"Come, Anomen, let us get shut of these rascals!" 

"My pardon, Haldir," the messenger added.   "I should have mentioned that the Lady expressly stated that she wishes to see you alone." 

Haldir turned to his brothers.  "Rúmil, Orophin, would you entertain our guest in my absence?"

"Of course, Haldir," said Orophin.

Haldir hesitated.  "Do you absolutely promise that you will not neglect him?"

Orophin and Rúmil looked at him indignantly.  Protested Rúmil, "When have we ever failed to take good care of a visitor?"

"Yes," added Orophin archly, "_We_ have never lost a guest."

Haldir scowled at his two brothers.  "See that you don't do so now."  He nodded farewell to Anomen and hastened from the clearing.

Anomen sat comfortably with the brothers for several minutes, listening to the repartee between them and other members of the patrol.  Then a second messenger entered the shelter.

"Rúmil, Orophin, the Lord Celeborn requests your presence."

The two brothers groaned.  Said Rúmil, "We must leave you, Anomen.  Haldir is going to take great joy in accusing us of abandoning our charge.  But," he added, his face brightening, "perhaps a member of the patrol will take you under his wing for the time being."

"Oh, no," said Anomen hastily.  "I think I would like to return to Haldir's talan—to rest.  I can find my way back on my own, I am sure, and if I do lose the way, I will ask someone."    

"Very well," replied Rúmil.  "If you are sure you don't mind being left on your own."

"Oh, no, I don't mind at all.  I am _very_ tired.  The journey has been a long and wearying one."

The brothers nodded in understanding and departed from the clearing.  Anomen set out strolling toward Haldir's talan, but when he was sure that they were well away, he broke into a run.  Scrambling up the rope ladder, he quickly retrieved his weapons and packed his belongings.  He did not know why, but he was determined to return to Greenwood for one final visit. 


	9. Dark Pilgrim

Ai! I don't think I can write fast enough to satisfy _MoroTheWolfGod__ (throws a hunk of meat from the back of the sled to buy off the wolf that is snapping at the runners)._

You are right, _dragonfly32: Rúmil and Orophin cannot tease Haldir this time; in fact, they are likely to be teased themselves.  By the way, you may not want to be so hard on Glorfindel (hint, hint).  Also, I think Mithrandir can be forgiven.  After all, Saruman has been a close colleague, and they do belong to the same order, so they are 'kin' in a way.  And, yes, Saruman will appear again.  Circumstances will be life-threatening, but I won't say to whom. _

Dûrrandîr—'Dark Pilgrim' or 'Dark Wanderer' (cf. Mithrandir)

Sadormîr—'Faithful Jewel'

            The Lady of Lothlórien usually summoned an Elf only when she was ready to speak with him.  Although held in awe by all, she never presumed that others were lesser beings whose times and tasks were so unimportant that she could leave them idling until she saw fit to turn her attention to them.  This courtesy she extended to even the youngest of the novices.  Great was Haldir's surprise, then, when he was kept cooling his heels at the base of the mallorn tree that supported her talan.  Perhaps, Haldir mused, this unusual state of affairs resulted because she was closeted with Mithrandir and their deliberations had gone on longer than anticipated.  To his even greater surprise, then, did he learn from a passing Elf, one of Celeborn's messengers, that Mithrandir had left the Land of Lórien that very morning.  For what reason, then, had the Lady summoned Haldir only to leave him to dawdle purposelessly?

            As Haldir sat at the base of the tree puzzling over the Lady's unaccustomed behavior, Celeborn's messenger returned, followed shortly thereafter by—Rúmil and Orophin!

            "What are you two doing here!?"

            "We have been summoned by the Lord Celeborn."

            "But where is Anomen?  Oh, do tell me that you have entrusted him to another member of the patrol!"

            "No," said Rúmil.  "Anomen declined that offer of hospitality, for he was tired and wished to return to your talan."

            "You, you, you—dolt!  Do you truly believe that he will be at my flet!?"

            Just at that moment, one of the Lady's servants descended from the talan to summon Haldir into her presence.

            "Ai! What will I say to the Lady Galadriel?  How can I tell her that Anomen has given me the slip twice in one millennium!?"

            "Has the Lady kept you waiting long?" asked Orophin.

            "Yes.  Unusually so."

            "I think," said Orophin shrewdly, "that you will not have to say anything at all to the Lady.  More likely than not, she will tell _you exactly where our fugitive guest has gotten himself to."_

            "You think so?"  Haldir looked hopeful.

            "Yes, brother," laughed Orophin.  "I suspect the Lady has been enjoying herself a little at your expense!"

            Haldir sighed.  "I wish that she would pick on someone else to sport with the next time the fancy strikes her!  You know what everyone else in the patrol is going to say until the changing of the moon, don't you?"  He began to ascend the stairs, but then he stopped and turned to look down at his brothers with a gleam in his eye.  "Of course, this time I may not be the only Elf who will have to face the music."

            Orophin and Rúmil looked uncomfortable.  Rúmil protested, "But Haldir, we were summoned by the Lord Celeborn!  We couldn't very well have refused to do his bidding!"

            Just then Celeborn's messenger came down the stairs.

            "Rúmil, Orophin," he called.  "Your presence is no longer needed.  Lord Celeborn says that you may return to your companions."

            Rúmil and Orophin now both looked a little green.  Haldir smirked.  "Farewell for now, O vigilant guardians of our guest from afar."  With that, Haldir resumed his ascent toward the Lady's talan, leaving two discomfited Elves in his wake.

            The cause of their embarrassment had meanwhile been making his steady way westward.  The horses of the Imladris Elves had been sheltering in a pleasant glade near the border of Lothlórien.  The glade appeared empty when Anomen reached it, and at first the young Elf feared that his horse had been led away with the others when the Rivendell Elves had set out for Thranduil's realm.  He knew from experience that it was a long walk to Greenwood!  Fortunately, however, his horse was merely resting in the shade of a tree at the edge of the glade, and as soon as he spotted Anomen, he came racing toward him.

            "Ah, Sadormîr! Anomen cried in relief as the horse nuzzled his neck. "You would never desert me!  Come, we must pick up the trail of the others, although we must not come too near."  

            By nightfall Anomen had drawn close to his companions, for they had in fact had only a few hours head start.  When he spotted a campfire in the distance, he dismounted and led Sadormîr into an area of scrub to keep him out of sight.  Then he crept forward on foot, making his way carefully around bushes and across a stream, until he could see the Elven figures clustered around about the fire, talking and eating.

            "Berenmaethor," Anomen heard Glorfindel say.  "As Anomen is not here, who now is the youngest Elf?"

            There was a chorus of voices in reply: "Thoron!"

            The Elf in question groaned but arose and began to gather dishes.  Shortly thereafter he vanished beyond the ring of light, going off toward some source of water, as Anomen well knew.

            Anomen crouched in hiding for a while longer, wishing that he could join the merry group camped so close to him.  At last, he quietly arose to make his way back to Sadormîr, his one companion for the time being.  He crept back around bushes toward the stream.  Rounding the last bush, he well nigh tripped over Thoron, who knelt by the bank collecting horsetails for the scouring of pots.  Thoron sprang to his feet; Anomen drew up his hood and lowered his head, allowing his hair, which he had never rebraided after dying it, to hang over his face.

            "Mae govannen, mellon," said Thoron.  "Are you alone?"

            Without lifting his head, Anomen nodded.

            Thoron placed his hand on Anomen's arm.  "There is room by our fire, and food to spare as well.  Come and join us."

            Anomen shook his head, but Thoron gripped his arm tightly and said, "Oh, but I do think you should."  He sounded amused.

            Knowing that to struggle would only bring the other Elves swarming, Anomen reluctantly let himself be pulled toward the camp, keeping his head down all the while.

            When they entered the camp, no one seemed to be surprised that Thoron had returned with a strange Elf.  "Mae govannen," several called out, and the Elves made room for Anomen at the fire.  A bowl of stew was placed in his hands.

            "Thoron," called Erestor, "what is the name of your dark-haired friend?"

            "You are called 'Dûrrandîr', is that not so?" said Thoron.

            Anomen nodded his head, and ventured to peek through his hair at Thoron.  His friend was smiling.  Then he glanced toward Glorfindel, who sat silently across from him.  Glorfindel was not smiling.  Anomen ducked his head back down.

            "Well," said Erestor, "perhaps, if Dûrrandîr is traveling on his own, he might like to join our company."

            Anomen stole another glance toward Glorfindel.  The balrog-slayer's face was unreadable.  He looked toward Thoron, who was mouthing the word 'Yes'.  Anomen nodded.

            "Do you have a horse hereabouts, Dûrrandîr?" asked Erestor.

            Softly, Anomen said, "Aye."

            "Then I suggest you bring it nearer to the camp.  Place it amongst our herd, where it will be safer."

            "Yes, I will, Lord Ere—um, Lord."

            "By the way, my name is Erestor."

            "Yes, I will fetch my horse at once, Lord Erestor."

            Anomen sprang to his feet and bolted from the camp.

            "Thoron," said Glorfindel, breaking his silence.  "Follow our guest to make sure that he does indeed return to camp.  He very much reminds me of an Elfling who has a habit of disappearing."

            Thoron hurried after Anomen and accompanied him as he went to fetch his horse.  On the way back, they stopped to retrieve the dishes.

            When they returned to the camp, Glorfindel was still sitting by the fire, finishing his meal.  When he was done, he at last addressed Anomen.

            "Dûrrandîr, you look quite young—even younger than Thoron here."

            "Yes, I am no doubt younger than Thoron."

            "Well, we have a custom that the youngest in the company washes dishes and performs other chores."

            Glorfindel arose and tossed his now-empty bowl into Anomen's lap.

            A wave of laughter swept through the camp.  Anomen gazed up at Glorfindel's face.  To his utter amazement, the balrog-slayer gave him a wink before striding off to set the watch.

TBC


	10. A True Son

            After a long journey, the Rivendell delegation at last came within sight of Thranduil's realm.  Greenwood scouts spotted their approach, and a messenger was sent to the Hall to alert the king to his approaching guests.  Thranduil's seneschal, Gilglîr, brought the message to Thranduil as he sat in Legolas' deserted room, where, after all these years, the king was still wont to spend all his spare minutes.

            "Thranduil, Glorfindel and Erestor are nearing the Hall."

            Thranduil merely nodded.  Sometimes it was too great an effort to speak.

            "Thranduil, I apologize for this, but—"

            Thranduil raised his head, interrupting his friend.

            "Gilglîr, I know what you are going to say—I must make every effort to fulfill my duties, for the situation is grave.  Very well," he continued, arising from his seat on Anomen's still-rumpled bed—Thranduil allowed no one to disturb anything in his son's former room.  "Very well, I will put aside my grief and play the king—stern, impassive, with space in his heart only for welfare of his realm.  In the company of Elrond's emissaries, I will be either grave when needful or merry like one who is jovial when that is required."

            Gilglîr's heart ached for the king, but he merely nodded.  Together they left the room that had become both a sanctuary and a memorial.

            Thranduil kept his word.  When the Rivendell Elves rode up to the hall, he stood there, his face studiedly neutral, to formally welcome them to his realm.

            "My Lords Erestor and Glorfindel, I bid you and your companions welcome.  It has been far too long since we have received a delegation from Imladris.  I pray that you will make free to ask for anything that is needful for your comfort whilst you are among us."  He bowed slightly.

            Erestor and Glorfindel bowed a little more deeply in return.

            "My Lord," said Erestor, "we thank you for your gracious welcome and hope that we may find the means to at least in part reciprocate your kindness, for I am sure that we lack the means to match it entirely."

            Thranduil inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment.  He gestured for the two elf-lords to come forward and enter his Hall.  As they passed him, he glanced back at their retainers, who would be escorted by his servants to lesser quarters.  One of them, his face hidden by his dark unbraided hair, looked very young to be included amongst such a company.  "My son's age, perhaps, had he lived," the king thought sadly.  Pain stabbed through him, and he forced himself to look away from the young Elf.  Determined to keep his emotions in check, he stalked into the Hall. 

            Although Anomen had kept his head lowered, from time to time he risked a glance at his father.  Was it true that the king had been grieving over the loss of the prince of Greenwood?  True, his father looked serious, but in no way did he look sad.  He looked as a king should when greeting ambassadors who had come bearing important messages.

"So it is a lie, then, that my father sorrows over my death," Anomen thought bitterly.  "Of course," Anomen reminded himself, trying to restore his hope, "in such a public setting my father is unlikely to show private grief.  I must see more of him before I can be sure."

Many days passed before Anomen had another opportunity to observe the king, who spent long hours in discussions with Erestor and Glorfindel.  At last their business was concluded, and Berenmaethor informed the Rivendell Elves that they would be leaving on the morrow.

"But first," he told them, "we are to attend a feast in honor of Erestor and Glorfindel.  By all accounts, Thranduil means to give us a spectatcular send-off so that we will carry word of his glory back to our realm."

"And we are all to attend, even the least of us?" asked Thoron.

"Yes," replied Berenmaethor.  "Even little Dûrrandîr here," he added with a grin.  From the time Anomen had rejoined their company, everyone had been careful to address him as 'Dûrrandîr'.  In that way, they had become so accustomed to the name that they were unlikely to slip up and call him 'Anomen' whilst in the hearing of any Greenwood Elves.

"Now I will be able to determine his true feelings," Anomen thought to himself.  "The feast will last for hours.  Surely even my father could not dissemble for such a length of time.  And," he added to himself, "many toasts will be made tonight.  My father will no doubt drink liberally, especially if Dorwinion wine is to be served, which it surely will.  That should loosen his tongue!"

So it was that a hopeful Anomen took his place amongst the other Rivendell Elves at a long table near the front of the Hall of Celebration.  Anomen was seated at the very end of the table, farthest from the dais, but he was still in a position to see all that transpired at the king's table.

            As the lesser Elves were filing into the Hall of Celebration, Gilglîr was helping Thranduil into the elaborately decorated robe that he would wear for the occasion.  Thranduil sighed as he stood patiently whilst Gilglîr adjusted his formal garb.

            "My Lord?"

            "It is nothing, Gilglîr.  I am merely so tired.  It takes a great deal of energy to pretend that one is not grieving.  And tonight," he added bitterly, "I face the hardest task of all.  Hitherto I needed merely to counterfeit a grave demeanor; tonight I must put on a merry one."

            "I know," Gilglîr softly replied.  "But you have only to endure this one feast.  On the morrow, our guests will depart."

            Thranduil nodded somberly.  "And a great relief that shall be to me.  It seems that whenever I glance through an embrasure, I spy a young Rivendell Elf who, dark-haired though he be, puts me in mind of the prince.  I shall be glad when he has gone hence."

            The dark-haired Elf in question was finding it difficult to sit still, so eager was he to see how his father acted.

            "Dûrrandîr," hissed Thoron, "Glorfindel is staring at you."

            "Pointedly?"

            "Yes."

            Fortunately for Anomen, at that moment the herald announced the king, and all attention turned to that personage.

            As Anomen had expected, the feast dragged on for hours, and their glasses oft were raised in toasts.  Through it all, however, Thranduil smiled and laughed, giving no sign that he had ever suffered any cruel blow, let alone the loss of a son.  Indeed, the longer the feast went on, the merrier Thranduil became—and the sadder grew Anomen.

 "Dûrrandîr," said Thoron, as he noticed how Anomen had lost his appetite, "what is the matter?  You are a native of Greenwood, is that not so?  Are you not glad to have Greenwood food placed before you once more?  Or," he added, trying to joke, "perhaps you left in the first place because the Greenwood diet did not agree with you!"

Anomen tried to smile but couldn't.  Thoron grew concerned.  "Are you ill?" he asked anxiously.

Anomen answered carefully.  "I left Greenwood before I had become accustomed to this Dorwinion wine.  Perhaps I have enjoyed myself too much this night."

"Ah," said Thoron wisely, "and you are yet underage.  I should have discouraged you from drinking each and every toast!  Come, let us slip out and return to our quarters.  I think we can do so without being noticed."

They were noticed, however.

"Thank the Valar!" thought Thranduil.  "That Elf no longer darkens my sight.  Mayhap now it will be easier to maintain my composure for the remainder of this feast."

Still, Thranduil had yet one more trial to endure.  The following morning, he had to bid the Imladris Elves farewell.

"It will take only a few minutes," said Gilglîr soothingly.   Thranduil nodded miserably.  The feast had taken well nigh all his strength.

The Rivendell Elves were assembled outside the entrance to the Hall.  Elrond and Glorfindel stood at their head.  All bowed as the King of Greenwood came forth.  Thranduil bowed slightly in return.

"My Lords Elrond and Glorfindel, I have enjoyed your presence in my realm," lied the king smoothly.

Glorfindel replied first.  "My Lord, your pleasure could not have been greater than ours.  We got the better of the exchange, for you graced us with your person, and in exchange we brought only ourselves."

"Yes, we do indeed thank you, my Lord," said Erestor in his turn.  "I must say that your hospitality exceeded even that which rumor had led me to expect."

Thranduil graciously inclined his head.  Glorfindel and Erestor bowed once more and moved toward their horses.  Partway there, Erestor came to a halt and turned to address the king once more.  "My Lord—."  He paused.  It seemed that there was something more that Erestor wished to say but that he hesitated to do so. 

Puzzled, Thranduil said, "Yes, Lord Erestor?"

"My Lord, we have been formal with one another, for we have had much to accomplish and little time to spare.  But I cannot depart without expressing somewhat of my feelings.  We have heard in Imladris of the loss of your son.  My Lord, you have my deepest sympathy, and know you that you have Elrond's likewise."

With one final great effort, Thranduil kept himself from weeping before his guests.  "I thank you for your concern, but that unfortunate accident occurred long ago and I am quite recovered."  With that, Thranduil bowed his dismissal of the Rivendell Elves and escaped into the Hall, his dignity intact.

As he did so, Anomen was unwittingly trying to prove himself to be Thranduil's son, for with a great effort, he too masked his emotions.  But far away in Lothlórien, Galadriel wept.


	11. Old Enemies

            The Rivendell Elves were making their way southward.  Before their departure from Thranduil's Hall, the king's scouts had warned them that Orcs had been spotted roaming the plains to the west.  Glorfindel had therefore decided that they would stay within the shelter of the forest as long as possible, until they drew near to Dol Guldur and had no choice but to leave the woods.  This route kept them from the eyes of the Orcs, but it also prevented them from traveling as fast as they could have on open ground.  Also slowing their progress was the rain through which they were forced to slog.  A downpour had begun shortly after they had left the king's hall, and it showed no signs of slackening.

            Not only their garments but their spirits were being dampened by the ceaseless rain.  Nor were matters improved by the fact that the further south they traveled, the more frequently they came upon traces of the dangerous spiders that over the years had been infesting Greenwood in ever greater numbers.

            "Glorfindel," grumbled Erestor as he rode alongside his friend, "are you sure we shouldn't take to the plains now?  It is true that we may encounter Orcs, but if we remain within the forest, we will surely encounter those infernal arachnids."

            "If we encounter Orcs, they will attack us without hesitation," Glorfindel replied calmly, "but spiders have not yet been known to attack large groups of travelers.  As long as we stay together, we will be safe."

            "Maybe," suggested Erestor, "the spiders _have attacked large groups of travelers, and successfully, so that no one was left to tell the tale."_

            Glorfindel chuckled.  "Thank you, Erestor.  I did not think anyone could cheer me up, but you have done so."

            "Moreover," continued Erestor doggedly, "on the plains we would see Orcs approaching in plenty of time to prepare to defend ourselves.  Here in the forest we would neither see nor hear the movements of the spiders.  Even a Dwarf could coax no sound out of these rain-sodden leaves that we and our horses are slipping upon."

"Perhaps," mused Glorfindel, "we should stop to set up camp.  We can cover little more distance today and might spend our time more profitably in drying our clothes by the fire."

"If anyone can start a fire in this storm," growled Erestor.

Erestor was not the only gloomy one.  Thoron had been anxiously watching Anomen ever since the night of the feast, for Anomen had recovered neither his appetite nor his spirits.  Indeed, he seemed to grow sadder by the hour.  He neither laughed nor smiled nor sang, and no longer did he cheekily bait Glorfindel.  Instead, he sullenly went about his chores.  Now, as the Elves dismounted, without being told he began to hunt about for any sticks that might be dry enough to be used in kindling a flame.

After supper had been prepared and all the dishes washed—Thoron had offered to help but Anomen brusquely refused his aid—Thoron noticed the young Elf slipping away from the group into the shadows under the trees.  Concerned, Thoron followed.

"Anomen," he called as he caught up with his friend, "you will be taken by a spider if you wander off alone."

Anomen seemed to find that statement amusing.  "Taken by a spider!  What a thought!"

"But, Anomen, the spiders do seize those who have the misfortune to wander alone in these woods.  That is how the Prince of Greenwood met his end."

Anomen smiled bitterly and said softly, more to himself than Thoron, "The misfortune to wander alone."  Then he turned indignant.  "You forget that I grew up in Greenwood.  Do not presume to tell me of its dangers!"

 Thoron was taken aback.  Anomen had never spoken to him in such an angry tone.  He cast about for another argument to convince Anomen to return to the fire.

"Anomen, if you wander about alone, Glorfindel will be angry with you."

"Why should that concern me?  Glorfindel will think ill of me no matter what I do."

"Anomen, that is not fair!  Glorfindel is only strict with you because he is trying to look out for you.  He is quite fond of you, and he shows his affection by training you with the greatest of rigor so that you will be able to stand up to the perils that you will encounter."

"Huh," Anomen scoffed, "if that is how he shows his affection, I pray that I never get on his _bad_ side."

Thoron was bewildered.  He had never seen this side of his friend.  Something was very wrong.  He decided to leave off trying to persuade Anomen to return to the camp.  "I will fetch Glorfindel," he thought to himself.  "He will _make Anomen go back to the safety of the camp, and once he has done so, he and Erestor will sort out the problem."_

"Very well, Anomen," Thoron said aloud.  "I will leave you for now.  I hope we can talk later about what it is that troubles you."

Anomen gave no answer.  Thoron turned about and made for the camp.

Behind him the trees were starting to stir and reach out to Anomen, but he wanted no one's sympathy, not even theirs.  He tried to ignore them, but they became more and more frantic in their attempts to get him to listen.  "Be silent," he shouted, and picking up a stick, he struck the trunk of the nearest one.  Shocked, the trees fell silent, and before they could recover from their astonishment and find their voices again, the spiders struck.

            As the spiders were creeping up on Anomen, Thoron was racing back toward the fire.  "Glorfindel," he panted, dashing up to the startled balrog-slayer, "You had better come and speak to Anomen.  He has gone off by himself, and something troubles him greatly."

            Before Glorfindel had a chance to reply, a scream of pain and fear made every warrior reach for his sword.  "Thoron," cried Glorfindel, "quick, lead me to Anomen!"

            Sick with fear, Thoron ran heedlessly through the undergrowth, paying no mind to the vines that whipped at his face.  Equally frantic, Glorfindel followed close behind.  Without being bidden, every other Elf raced after them.  Crashing through one last bush, they saw what they had feared.   Spiders swarmed so thickly that they could not even see where Anomen lay.  Glorfindel went into a frenzy, slashing and hacking with as much force as if his opponent were once again a balrog.  Thoron was not carrying a sword, but he seized a branch and flailed at any spider within reach.  Spider limbs soon were scattered about, and Erestor spotted the twitching body of Anomen.  One spider still had hold of one of his arms and was trying to drag him further into the forest.  "Glorfindel, Glorfindel, over there!"  Erestor gestured frantically.  Glorfindel sprang toward the retreating spider and with one blow hacked its head from its body.  

            Anomen was writhing and moaning.  "Help me! Saes! Saes!  Ada!  Help me!  Saes!  Adaaa!" he whimpered.  

            Glorfindel knelt down beside the injured Elf and examined his numerous wounds.  When he looked up, his face was grave.

            "Erestor, we must hasten to return to Thranduil's Hall! 

            "No!" Anomen shrieked.  "I will not return to Thranduil's Hall!  I will not stay in Greenwood.  Mirkwood I name it, for here all is dark!"

            Anomen kicked and clawed at the Elves who huddled anxiously around him.  In his frenzy, he struck out even at Thoron.

            "Glorfindel," Erestor said urgently, "the Greenwood Elves are well versed in the cure of spider bites, but if Anomen fights so against any return to Thranduil's Hall, then it may do more harm than good to force him to go back.  We must treat him as best we can and then make for Lothlórien as fast as we may."  

"Very well," said Glorfindel.  "Berenmaethor, two of your men must hold him down—no, Thoron, I do not want you to have to do this."

            One Elf sat astride Anomen's legs; the other pulled his arms above his head and held them fast.  Glorfindel knelt beside Anomen and drew his knife.

            Anomen was becoming delirious now.  When he saw Glorfindel kneel beside him with blade in hand, he shrieked, "Thoron, Thoron, help me!  Glorfindel really means to skin me this time!"  Screaming at the top of his lungs, he tried in vain to twist free.

            In consternation, Glorfindel exclaimed, "Someone gag him before he brings more spiders down upon us!"

            "Shhh, Anomen," said Thoron soothingly.  "Glorfindel will use his knife to help you.  He means to purge you of the poison.  Here, bite down on this strap."  Thoron slipped a piece of leather into Anomen's mouth, and the young Elf bit down upon it for all he was worth.

            Quickly Glorfindel made incisions in each spider bite, and he pressed hard upon Anomen's flesh to force out as much of the venom as he could.  As he was doing so, Erestor was fetching the bundle of athelas that he always carried with him on journeys.  Hastily he prepared a poultice.  When Glorfindel had finished, Erestor spread some of the paste over each wound and bound it with strips of cloth that he tore from his cloak.  Then Glorfindel took his own cloak and wrapped Anomen in it.  The balrog-slayer picked up the young Elf, who by now was unconscious, his eyes closed as if he were mortal.  Rapidly but carefully, Glorfindel strode toward the horses.  Thoron followed at his heels.

            "Glorfindel, Anomen cannot ride alone.  I will hold him before me on my horse."

            "You are right, Thoron.  Anomen cannot ride unassisted, but my horse is larger and stronger than yours.  We will be able to move more swiftly if Anomen rides with me."

            Glorfindel handed Anomen to Thoron and mounted his horse.  Then Thoron reluctantly lifted Anomen up to Glorfindel, who settled the unconscious Elf securely in front of him.  As soon as he was satisfied that the young one was well-balanced in his arms, Glorfindel spurred his horse forward and galloped off through the forest like one pursued by wargs.  Thoron raced to his horse, leaped upon it, and followed in the same pell mell fashion.  Under Berenmaethor and Erestor's command, the remaining Elves broke camp as rapidly as they could and rode off in pursuit.


	12. Another Ride In The Rain

Like all Elves, Glorfindel was normally considerate of his horse, whom he considered to be his partner rather than his servant.  But on this occasion he asked of his mount more than he had ever asked before.  It is a tribute to the respect that the horse had for his rider that the stallion did not rebel.  Instead, sensing his rider's need, the stallion galloped across the plain like a horse from the days of legend.  With his double burden, however, the horse was slowed enough so that Thoron, on his slighter steed, was able to keep up, or to at least stay within sight of the balrog-slayer and his burden.

            When they arrived at the border of Lothlórien, they did not bother with the niceties of etiquette but rode directly to Caras Galadhon, not dismounting until they were at the very base of the Lord and Lady's talan.  There Lord Celeborn awaited them.  As he accompanied them up the steps that ascended the mallorn tree, he informed them that the Lady Galadriel had already prepared medicines and poultices to counter the spider venom.

            Gently Glorfindel laid Anomen upon the bed that had been prepared for him.  The pale young Elf had not opened his eyes since their departure from Greenwood, and for a horrible moment Glorfindel thought that Anomen had ceased breathing.   But his chest did rise and fall, even if his breaths were so slight that Glorfindel found himself holding his own breath as he tried to satisfy himself that Anomen did indeed live.

"Come, Glorfindel," said Celeborn, once Anomen had been settled on the bed.  "You and Thoron do not want to leave Anomen, but it would be best if you did, for then Galadriel can tend to our young friend without distraction."

Glorfindel nodded.  As shaken as he was, all his life he had trained to keep command of his emotions so that he could function in situations that required the utmost pragmatism.  This was such an occasion.  He turned his attention to patiently but firmly persuading Thoron that it was needful for him to descend from the talan.

            Anomen slept on for another three days as the Lady kept vigil by his side, changing his dressings and from time to time rousing him enough to compel him to swallow one of the medicines.

             On the fourth day Anomen at last opened his eyes.  Galadriel smiled down upon him, but he gasped and looked about him wildly.

            "You are quite safe, Anomen.  What do you fear?"

            "La-la-la-dy," he stammered, "there are t-t-too many of you!"

            "Do you mean that you are seeing double."

            "More than that!"

            "Triple?"

            "More!"

            "Quadruple, then?"

            Anomen seemed to be trying to count the many Galadriels that shimmered before him.

            "Quadruple times quadruple times quadruple, Lady!"

            "Sixty-four Galadriels?"

            "Well," conceded Anomen, "maybe not that many—but there are quite a few of you!"

            "I assure you, Anomen, that as the poison wears off, your eyesight will return to normal.  It is common for victims of such bites to develop the vision of a spider—although usually not to such an extent!  You were bitten many times, however, and that fact no doubt explains the severity of your reaction.

            Reassured, Anomen nodded.  Besides, he thought to himself, a world filled with multiple Galadriels was not such a dreadful one.  What if he had awakened to find himself confronted by multiple Orcs!?

            The entire time Anomen had been sleeping, Thoron had been loitering about the base of the tree, as had been Haldir.  Now Galadriel sent for them, although she was quite firm in telling Anomen that she would not permit them to stay long.

            "You were bitten many, many times, and you have been quite sick.  You may consider yourself lucky not to have suffered the fate of the Prince of Greenwood."

            Was it Anomen's imagination, or did she look very hard at him as she said that?

            Thoron and Haldir came softly in, having been warned by Galadriel's messenger that they were not to excite the feeble Elf.

            "Dûrrandîr, you gave us such a fright!"

            "Dûrrandîr?" said Haldir, bewildered.

            "Oh," said Thoron, "he changed his name as well as his hair."

            Galadriel said to her charge, "May not Thoron call you by your _true name now?"_

Was it Anomen's imagination, or did she look very hard at him as she said _that? "Um, you may call me Anomen, Thoron."_

"Good.  Anyway, your hair is beginning to grow out, so 'Dark Wanderer' soon won't even suit you!"

"It would be good indeed," Galadriel pointed out "if neither the 'Dark' nor the 'Wanderer' suited our young friend here.  But now," she added, arising from her seat, "I do believe that, whatever be his name, this elfling needs his rest."  She ushered Thoron and Haldir from the talan.

"Thoron, Haldir, you should rest as well, for I know that you have not done so for these past several days.  Haldir, could I prevail upon you to take Thoron to your talan and provide for his needs?"

"Of course, my Lady."

Thoron and Haldir bowed, and Haldir began to lead Thoron to his talan.  Galadriel called after him.  "Oh, and Haldir."

Haldir turned.  "Yes, my Lady."

 "Do try not to lose this one."

Haldir blushed.  "I will, my Lady."

"You will lose him?"

"No, I mean, I will not!  I—"

Haldir broke off when he realized that she was gently twitting him.  "My Lady," he said meaningfully, "I am sure you must remember that I did have some _help_ in losing him."

Galadriel nodded, her face grave, but her eyes smiling.

            Lady Galadriel insisted that Anomen rest another week in Lothlórien before she would permit the Rivendell Elves to resume their journey.  By that time Anomen's vision had returned to normal, although he still tired easily.  Galadriel prepared medicine enough for the remainder of the journey back to Imladris, for, she said, Anomen would sicken again if he did not continue to take it for some time.

            The last night of Anomen's stay in Lothlórien, he was allowed to join Thoron in Haldir's flet.  "I think," the Lady of Lórien said with mock gravity, "that Haldir would be immensely pleased if, just once, you would spend the _entire_ night in his talan.  He is beginning to be rather self-conscious about his abilities as a host, since you seem so disinclined to accept his hospitality."

            "Far be it from me," replied Anomen with equally straight face, "to inflict such a state of doubt upon an Elf who is so vigilant in keeping his guests in comfort—even if he cannot keep them in sight!"

            "So you promise not to flee his entertainment this night?"

            "I do, Lady."

            "Perhaps he will sing for you and Thoron."

            "Haldir sings?"

            "He has been known to."

            "Am I allowed to reconsider, Lady?"

            "Glorfindel is right about you.  You _are _a scamp.  Go.  Haldir and Thoron are waiting for you at the base of my talan—and I'd better not spy you creeping about tonight.  I can be fiercer than Glorfindel."

            "That would be fierce indeed!"

            "I shall tell him you say so," threatened Galadriel.

            "I am sure he will be _very_ surprised to hear of it," smiled Anomen.

            Galadriel laughed, and Anomen thought that he had never heard a more beautiful sound.  

            Haldir did indeed sing, but so did Thoron and Anomen.  The three of them kept at it until well past the setting of the moon and only ceased when Berenmaethor climbed up into the talan and threatened to gag them.

            "Glorfindel is doing his best to ignore you," warned Berenmaethor, "but only a little while longer and I think you will see the balrog-slayer unleashed!"

            "What about Erestor?" asked Thoron.

            "Oh, he hasn't been about for the entire evening.  He was spotted walking in a glade with an elf-maiden, and no one's seen him since."

            "Erestor!?"

            "And why _not_ Erestor?  Now be still before I send Anomen back to the Lord and Lady's talan—no, before I send him to _Glorfindel's_ talan."

            The silence was both instantaneous and lasting.

            The next morning the Imladris Elves took their leave and began to travel southward, a route that would take them through the Gap of Rohan.  The day had promised fair, but once they had crossed the borders of Lothlórien, the sky began to cloud over.  Soon they were riding through a downpour even worse than the one that had afflicted them in Greenwood, or, as Anomen insisted calling it, Mirkwood.  The rain went on for days, and they were forced to travel more and more slowly.  They were particularly hampered by the need to repeatedly turn aside to search for places where they could ford creeks that had swollen into rivers.

            "Glorfindel," said Erestor one morning, "after today no medicine will remain."

            "Anomen seems well."

            "Yes, but the Lady did seem to feel that he would need her potions for some time to come."

            Glorfindel pondered.  "We must move forward as quickly as we may, for once we reach Rivendell, Elrond has his own fund of healing wisdom.  Meanwhile, we must try to keep Anomen as dry and rested as possible.

Ever since leaving Lothlórien, Thoron had been delegated to perform his friend's chores, but Anomen had insisted on helping.  Now, however, whenever they made camp, Glorfindel insisted that he stay wrapped by the fire under the shelter of a cloak that was stretched on sticks above him.  He realized that Glorfindel feared that he would fall ill without his medicine, and all too soon it became apparent that this was indeed the case.

            "Thoron," he said softly to his friend as he rode beside him near the end of the column.  You are too much with me."

            "What do you mean?"

            "There are two of you, and much as I enjoy your company, I find two of you to be a trifle overwhelming."

            "Anomen, have you been taking your medicine?"

            "It has run out.  Erestor stretched the last dose over two days, but that was some time ago.  I think Galadriel assumed that we would make better time."

            "You should tell Erestor and Glorfindel."

            "There is nothing more they can do.  They are pushing us forward as much as they can, and I know they are watching me carefully to see that I eat well, rest, and stay dry."

Suddenly Anomen swayed on his horse.  Had he not been riding an elven horse, no doubt he would have tumbled to the ground, but the horse shifted his weight from side to side so that, although Anomen slumped over the horse's neck, he did not fall outright.

"Glorfindel!" shouted Thoron.  "Erestor!"

The elf-lords looked back and seeing Anomen's plight, they spurred their horses to the rear of the column.  Glorfindel let out an elvish curse that turned Erestor's ears pink.  For Erestor's part, he contented himself with muttering, "Glorfindel, I would swear that some force has pitted the weather against us."

Glorfindel nodded glumly.  "We must return to Lothlórien.  We can make Caras Galadhon well before we could hope to arrive at Rivendell."

"But Isengard is even closer than Lothlórien."

"Isengard?"

"You should study maps more often.  We are passing by Fangorn Forest.  Isengard is quite close.  Saruman is a great wizard.  Surely he would be able to prepare a potion that would at least help Anomen, mayhap even cure him altogether."

"You are right, Erestor.  Lead us to Isengard.  We must place Anomen in the hands of Saruman."


	13. Many Are Thwarted

You are once again on the mark, _dragonfly.  Potions will indeed loom large in this chapter._

Vocabulary

Saeladar—'Wise Father'

            Saruman somehow knew of their approach, as Galadriel had earlier.  When they rode up to Isengard, the guards swung open the gate without asking them to identify either themselves or their errand.  At the base of the tower of Orthanc, the wizard himself awaited them and informed them that he had gathered together all that might be necessary for the care of Anomen.  Erestor wondered idly through what means Saruman had learned of Anomen's illness, but he dismissed the thought from his mind as he turned his attention to watching the wizard prepare to treat the young Elf. 

After carefully examining his patient, Saruman unrolled a cloth and began to study the herbs that had been wrapped in the bundle.  At last he picked up one bunch and prepared to cast it into a cauldron of water that a servant had heated.

            "Saruman," exclaimed Erestor, "is not that plant poisonous!"

            "Prepared in one way, yes," agreed the wizard.  "But prepared in another way, this herb has great virtue."

            Erestor still looked doubtful.

            "A knife," continued Saruman, noting Erestor's misgivings, "is a dangerous weapon.  Yet I see by these cuts on this young Elf's limbs that someone has used a knife to drain the poisoned blood from his body.  Did you not approve of that course of action?"

            Erestor looked toward Glorfindel, who nodded.

            Erestor turned back to Saruman.  "Very well," he said reluctantly, "do as you see fit."

The room filled with a noxious odor as Saruman prepared his potion.  When it was ready, Saruman needed the assistance of both Erestor and Glorfindel to force Anomen to swallow the vile liquid.  Glorfindel restrained the young Elf while Erestor forced his mouth open so that Saruman could pour the potion down his throat.  Anomen tried to spit it out, but Saruman pinched his nose closed so that the elfling gagged the liquid down in his desperate effort to breathe.  Glorfindel cringed inside at how harshly they had to handle the young one, and he tried to convince himself that what they did was for the best.

As foul tasting as the potion was, and as much as they had to struggle repeatedly to force it down Anomen's throat, the young Elf began to improve over the next several days.  At last it was apparent that the crisis had passed.  Although Anomen had not fully recovered, he was as strong as he had been when the Rivendell Elves had quitted Lothlórien.  Thus one night, whilst dining with Erestor and Saruman, Glorfindel spoke of the need to resume their journey.

"The time for the council approaches rapidly.  We should return to Imladris to assist Elrond in his preparations."  Rivendell had been agreed upon as the setting for the council because Men as well as Elves had customarily been welcome in that place.

Saruman objected.  "You set out from Lothlórien before our young friend was fully recovered, and that choice proved ill.  Would you risk his life again?'

"Galadriel believes that Anomen may long feel the effects of the venom," said Erestor, "but it is not practical for him to remain utterly bed-bound for the entire time that it would take for him to recover completely.  Moreover, if he did so, we would not return to Rivendell until long after the conference—and too much is at stake for such a lengthy delay."

"I did not say that he need convalesce for months on end.  If he could rest even for only the space of a few more weeks—that would be beneficial to the young one."

"But," argued Glorfindel, "we do not have a few more weeks."

"_You may not have a few more weeks, but is Anomen's presence in Rivendell necessary for the preparations to be completed?"_

Glorfindel paused.  Saruman had a point.  He and Erestor had need of haste, but Anomen did not labor under the same burdens as the older Elves did.

"You mean for us to leave him here," said Glorfindel.

Objected Erestor, "Then we shall have to make arrangements for his return to Rivendell, which may not be altogether easy if war does break out—as it assuredly shall."

"You forget," replied Saruman, "both that I too will be attending the council and that I do not need to leave for several more weeks.  If Anomen remains, he may rest during those weeks and accompany me when I depart for Rivendell."

Glorfindel nodded.

Said Erestor, "We should leave some of our warriors as an escort for Anomen."

Saruman looked offended.  "I assure you that my servants will be perfectly capable of protecting both myself _and my guest!"_

"Erestor," said Glorfindel hastily, "we shouldn't split our small force.  I doubt if we will face any trouble from the Dunlendings, but we may encounter Orcs and Wargs."

            "But," added Glorfindel, "let us at least leave Thoron behind as a companion for Anomen.  I do not wish him to feel abandoned."

Saruman looked troubled.  "Your pardon, my Lords.  I intend no disrespect to Thoron, who I am sure means no harm, but I have noticed that Anomen is weary rather than refreshed after Thoron has paid him a visit.  Perhaps it would be better for Anomen if he were to spend a few days undisturbed by the demands of his friend."

"Thoron is rather near to Anomen in age," agreed Erestor, "and therefore somewhat wilder than a more mature Elf.   Glorfindel, I think Saruman speaks wisely.  Let us leave Anomen entirely in his hands.  Besides," he joked, "with Anomen indisposed, we need Thoron to scour the dishes!"

Glorfindel smiled and nodded.  "Very well.  I shall tell Berenmaethor to prepare the scouts for our departure."

While the Elves were preparing to depart, Saruman hastened to Anomen's room.  The wizard had decided that it was time to give Anomen a medicine quite different from his former potion.

            To Anomen's surprise, this latest potion did not taste foul—in fact, it was delicious!  He drained the glass to the last drop.  Saruman looked pleased.

            "I see that this medicine agrees with you more than did the last one."

            "Yes, my Lord!  But my Lord, it tastes so good—what possible virtue could it have?"

            "Oh, I assure you, my young friend, this elixir is a very powerful one.  It will have a strong effect upon you."

            Anomen, much to his embarrassment, suddenly yawned loudly.  He blushed.

            "Excuse me, my Lord."

            "No, no, do not apologize.  It is to be expected that you would still be weary.  Sleep now."

            Saruman leaned forward and arranged the pillows.  Gratefully Anomen slid under the duvet.  Saruman stood by his bed, looking down upon the young Elf with a kind expression upon his face.

            "It must be hard for you," he mused,     "not to have a father."

            Drowsily, Anomen nodded.

            "A father would have sat beside your bed when you were ill or frightened."

            "Yes," murmured Anomen, as Saruman slipped into the chair beside the young Elf's bed.

            "A father would have wiped your forehead when you were fevered," said Saruman, picking up a cloth and dipping it into a bowl.

            "Mm-hh."

            Anomen felt as if he were floating whilst cocooned in the finest silk, surrounded by softness and warmth.  He felt someone smoothing the hair back from his face—such a gentle touch—safe—safe.

            "You would like to have a father, would you not?"

            "Mm-hh."

            Suddenly, Anomen heard a voice, Galadriel's voice.  Sharply she declared, "You have a father."

            Anomen sat bolt upright and shouted, "I do not!"

            "What is it Anomen?  What troubles you?" Saruman asked, his voice full of concern.

            "I-I must have been dreaming."

            "Ah," said Saruman sympathetically.  "A nightmare."

            "Yes, my Lord."

            The wizard shook his head, smiling.  "Always so formal.  You may call me Saruman."

            "That would seem disrespectful.  You are by far my senior."

            Then you may address me as Saeladar.  Is not that name a respectful one?"

            "Yes, my Lor—"

            "No, no.  Saeladar."

            "Um, yes—Saeladar."

Saruman seemed satisfied.  For his part, Anomen was starting to drift off again.  The last thing he remembered feeling before he fell into a deep sleep was the wizard lifting and stroking his hand, which had been dangling over the side of the bed.  The last thing he remembered hearing was the Istar's voice.

"I will sit with you until you are asleep.  It is something a father would do." 

When the wizard was sure that the young Elf was unconscious, he returned to the other Elves, who were by now ready to depart.  All were mounted, except for Thoron, who stood by his horse.

"I must bid Anomen farewell," said Thoron.

"Ah," said Saruman, regret in his voice, "Anomen has just fallen asleep—a deep, healing sleep.  I hesitate to wake him."

"But I cannot leave without speaking with him," protested Thoron.

"You would not want to harm your friend, would you?" asked Saruman.  "He should be allowed to sleep until he wakes, which may not be for some time."

Troubled, Glorfindel hesitated.  "I do not like to deprive Thoron of the opportunity to say farewell to Anomen.  Still, unless we depart now, we will not be able to travel far.  The day will be wasted."  

"Do not forget," said Saruman smoothly, "that soon you will be reunited with Anomen.  I will bring him with me when I journey to Imladris.  And young Thoron, fear not.  I shall make sure that Anomen knows of the circumstances of your departure."

Glorfindel nodded at Thoron.  Reluctantly, Anomen's friend mounted his horse, and the Rivendell delegation rode forth. 

The next morning, when Anomen finally was able to rouse himself from his drugged stupor, he was a little surprised to find that Thoron was not sitting in the chair by his bed.  Before, whenever Anomen awoke, his friend had been there.  Now only Saruman kept vigil by his bedside.

"Where is Thoron?"

"Your friend has left you.  All your friends have left you.  They departed for Rivendell yesterday morning."

"Departed—without me!?"  Anomen was stunned.

"They were in a great hurry.  They do, after all, have matters of great importance to attend to."

"Matters of great importance," Anomen thought bitterly.  "And I am of no importance—not to Thranduil, certainly not to Glorfindel, and now, it would seem, not even to Thoron."

"But I assure you," Saruman added, "that even though your friends have left you, you will not be neglected.  I have promised to take great care of you."

"I will begin, my young friend," said the wizard, "by making sure that you take your medicine."

"Friend," Anomen thought sadly.  "I have no friend."  Aloud he said, "I don't want it."

"But, Anomen, this is the pleasant tasting potion, not the foul concoction that you had to be forced to swallow."

"I don't care," said Anomen stubbornly, sulking like an Elfling.

This was unexpected.  Saruman had thought that getting Anomen's friends out of the way would make the ailing young Elf easier to manipulate.  Apparently this might not be the case.

"Now, now, Anomen," Saruman said in his most soothing voice, "you don't feel yourself right now, but this elixir is meant to restore you to health.  If you swallow it, you will feel much better."

"I don't care whether I get better or not," said Anomen.

"Of course you do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't!"

Stymied, Saruman wondered how he could make Anomen drink the potion without resorting to force, an action that would entirely defeat the purpose of this charade of kindly father looking out for dependent son.  What argument would work with the obstinate Elf?

"Anomen, what would Lord Elrond say if you did not take your medicine?"

Anomen began to say that Elrond wouldn't care in the least, but he stopped.  That, he knew, was not true.  Elrond had proved again and again that he had Anomen's interests at heart.  If he hadn't, surely he would have banished Anomen from Rivendell long ago, so much trouble had Anomen caused him.  But no matter Anomen's missteps, Elrond had always forgiven him, even when he had nearly led a young Arwen straight into a nest of Orcs.

"Very well," nodded Anomen.  "I will drink the potion."

Saruman felt triumphant.  He could make this young and headstrong Elf do his bidding.  Oh, yes, this time his plans would not fail.

In fact, Saruman may have just planted the seeds that would grow into the failure of his grandiose plans, but this possibility did not occur to the wisest of wizards.  All his eyes saw was a young Elf who was falling helplessly back into a stupor, a state that kept him a vulnerable captive of the wizard's hypnotic voice.  

After Anomen had spent several days at the mercy of Saruman's honeyed words, the young Elf began to puzzle over the fact that he was sleeping so much, and he noticed that he invariably fell asleep immediately after swallowing the Istar's potion.  The elixir, he realized, must itself be the explanation for his lethargy.

"Saruman," he thought to himself, "must think that I need a great deal of rest.  But I really feel much better and do not wish to drowse the day away.  If I could stay awake, at least I could pass the time in reading."

But how to tell the wizard that he did not need his elixir without seeming presumptuous or ungrateful?  The young Elf would have had difficulty in opposing the commands of a forceful wizard; he felt no more comfortable in opposing the wishes of a kindly one.  And Saruman was both. 

The next morning Anomen was still pondering how to get out of swallowing Saruman's potion when the wizard entered the room carrying a goblet.

"Well, Anomen, I see that you are awake at last.  Your timing is excellent, for it is the hour when you must take your medicine."

"Oh, good," said Anomen, putting on a great show of looking forward to being dosed.

Just then a servant knocked on the door.  "My Lord, one of the new creatures appears on the verge of breaking free from its sac.  The master of breeding thought that you would like to be present."

"Ah," said Saruman, "I will be there at once."  He turned to hasten from the room.

"My medicine!" wailed Anomen.

Saruman smiled indulgently and paused to hand Anomen the goblet.  "I think you can manage, can't you?"

"Oh, yes," Anomen agreed eagerly.

Anomen waited a few minutes before leaping from the bed and racing down the hall to the garderobe.  There he poured the contents of the goblet into the opening, but only after dipping his fingers into the liquid and smearing some around his mouth.  Then he ran back to his room and placed the goblet on the table beside his bed.  He climbed into bed, covered himself with the quilt, and tried to look sleepy, letting his eyes glaze over.

Saruman returned a short while later.

"Why, Anomen, from your face one would think you were a little Elfing!"

Anomen smiled up at Saruman innocently.  The wizard dipped a cloth into a bowl and wiped his face clean.  Anomen yawned.

"Well," laughed the Istar, his eyes gleaming, "I had better let you rest.  Would you like me to sit with you until you are asleep?"

"Oh, please do not trouble yourself."

"Ah, it is no trouble."

What could Anomen say?  Saruman sat beside the bed speaking softly to Anomen until he was convinced that he was unconscious.  Only then did he leave young Elf alone.

After the wizard had left the room, Anomen arose and examined the books stacked on a table across the room from his bed.  After a while he found one to his liking.  He returned to his bed, propped up a few pillows, and began to amuse himself by reading a tale of the Last Alliance, when the combined forces of Men and Elves beat back the power of Sauron.  He knew he would have to be ready to hide the book in an instant should Saruman return, but, not having swallowed the potion, he felt fully alert for the first time in days.

Several days passed in this fashion, with Anomen getting rid of the potion in various ways, usually by dumping it down the garderobe but sometimes pouring it beneath a bush on the occasions when the wizard permitted him to spend time outside—although always within the Ring of Isengard.  After disposing of the potion each day, Anomen was exceeding careful to act drowsy in the presence of the Istar, and so Saruman was confident that the elixir, combined with his mesmerizing voice, would soon win over the Elf.  This delighted the wizard, for he was certain that such an innocent looking Elf could easily insinuate himself into the councils of both Men and Elves.  "He will be immensely useful," thought Saruman with satisfaction.  "He will never arouse suspicion."

Anomen, meanwhile, alert and with plenty of time to think, was meditating along other lines altogether.  Saruman had inadvertently put him in mind of the fact that Elrond had always shown the greatest concern for his welfare.  Having been reminded of that, Anomen also began to remember the numerous kindnesses that had been shown him by Elrond's sons, Elladan and Elrohir.  Before too long, he was thinking fondly of many other denizens of Middle Earth—his long-ago Edwen Nana, Gilglîr, Mithrandir, Arwen, Galadriel, Haldir, even Erestor.  In fact, he could remember times when Glorfindel himself had taken much trouble over him.  And, Thoron, well, even though he had left without saying farewell, surely it was only because he was forced to.  At this thought, Anomen's resentment of Glorfindel was momentarily revived, but then Anomen had to smile when he remembered the wink Glorfindel had given him when he rejoined his companions on the crossing from Lothlórien to Greenwood.  He also had a dim memory of Glorfindel bearing him back to the land of Lórien after he had been attacked by the spiders.  No, Glorfindel often was sharp with him, but Anomen knew that Thoron's words in the forest of Greenwood were true.  By being strict, Glorfindel thought he was doing right by Anomen, for the world could be an unforgiving place.

The time drew near for the council.  Saruman of course had no intention of returning Anomen to Rivendell.  He would leave him behind and tell Elrond that the young Elf had still been too sick to travel.  With that in mind, one morning Saruman felt Anomen's pulse, sighed, and announced gravely, "I dislike entrusting your care to others, Anomen, but I am forced to undertake a journey.  I have assigned my most trustworthy servants to look after you in my absence.  Be assured that I will return to you as soon as I may."

"Where are you going, Lor—Saeladar?"

"I must meet with various personages."

"You are departing for the council in Rivendell!" Anomen said accusingly.

The wizard had to admit that this was true.

"Let me journey with you!"

"Yondo-nya, you are not fully recovered."

"I am recovered enough to travel!  And once I am at Rivendell, I will be able to rest and regain my strength without thought of further journeys."

Saruman shook his head.  "I would be remiss in my duties if I permitted you to travel before you are completely well."

"Lord Saruman—"

The Istar smiled benignly.  "Saeladar, Anomen, Saeladar."

"Saeladar, if you do not let me accompany you to Rivendell, I will make my way there on my own!"

This gave Saruman pause.  He knew that an undrugged Anomen would be perfectly capable of carrying through on the threat, and if Anomen were to arrive thus in Rivendell, Elrond would be most displeased—and his displeasure would likely extend to the wizard who had failed to see that Elrond's fosterling had returned under proper escort.  The only way to prevent the young Elf from venturing off on his own would be to restrain him.  Should he chain him, tie him, or lock him in?  But that would undo all the trust that he had been trying to cultivate in the Elf.  Well, here was a conundrum!  Was it best to anger the elf-lord or the elfling?

Neither, decided Saruman.  Anomen would accompany him to Rivendell, but he would make sure that the young Elf was bound to him so tightly that he would return with the Istar to Isengard at the conclusion of the council.  If Anomen wished to remain with him, as Saruman was sure he would, Elrond would be unable to stop him, as he had no claim upon the young Elf.  Their relationship was an informal one, thought Saruman smugly, for Anomen had never been legally attached to the elf-lord as a foster-son.

"Ah, Anomen, I cannot bear to see you unhappy.  If you so badly wish to see Rivendell once more, you may of course travel with me.  However, I fear for your health, as I do not believe you are truly recovered.  You must therefore promise to take your medicine each and every day of the journey and to faithfully follow my instructions."

Anomen nodded eagerly.  No doubt he could continue to find ways to avoid Saruman's potion, and what harm would there be in continuing to obey the wizard for the space of time it would take to regain Imladris? 

            As it turned out, the journey was much more of a trial than Anomen had anticipated.  First, Saruman insisted that Anomen ride before him.

            "You have barely recovered from your injuries.  I do not want you to doze off and tumble from your horse."

When Anomen began to object, Saruman asked, "What do you think Elrond would say if I let you reinjure yourself?"

Anomen had no answer to that and so was forced to ride with Saruman.

Since the Elf rode with the wizard, ate with the wizard, and slept in a bed-roll next to the wizard, he felt like a captive bird.  He had to pretend to be sleepy much of the time; when he was awake, he had no choice but to listen to Saruman's talk.  He disliked being repeatedly addressed by the wizard 'yondo-nya'; he liked even less the fact that the wizard expected to be called 'Saeladar'.

            Most troublesome of all, however, was the fact that, when it came time for him to swallow Saruman's potion, he was never able to slip off and dispose of the elixir privately.  He was always in the company of Saruman or of his servants.  It thus required considerable ingenuity and some sleight of hand to hide that fact that he was not drinking the concoction.  One day, Anomen found himself standing by the cooking pot when Saruman handed him his dose, and he could think of no better solution than to surreptitiously pour it into the stew the minute the wizard's back was turned.

            Saruman himself had his own private stock of food, which he shared with Anomen, so the Istar did not fall victim to his own elixir.  His men, however, were soon feeling its effects.  Those who were not on watch quickly, and perhaps gratefully, fell into a profound slumber, but Anomen felt great pity for the guard as he tried in vain to stave off sleep.  At last, after peering cautiously toward Saruman to make sure that the wizard, albeit undrugged, had nonetheless fallen asleep, Anomen crept over to guard and whispered that he would be quite glad to take his watch.  The grateful guard was all too glad to accept the offer.

            "But," begged the guard, "see that you wake me before the master arises.  It would be worth my life if I failed in my duty."

Anomen assured him that he would indeed awake him before dawn.  He himself would have to be back in his bedroll by then, feigning sleep.

In spite of these difficulties, Anomen had Saruman convinced that he was a docile young Elf who would be incapable of escaping his clutches even whilst in Rivendell.  Confidently, Saruman rode through the gates of Rivendell and up to the Hall, where Mithrandir and Glorfindel awaited them.      

            Catching Saruman completely by surprise, an amazingly alert and agile Anomen slipped off the horse before the wizard had reined it to a halt.

            "Mithrandir!" shouted Anomen, sprinting to the wizard.  "Mithrandir!"  He flung his arms around the Istar and squeezed so tightly that the wizard gasped.  When he had caught his breath, Mithrandir looked up at Saruman, still upon his horse, and beamed at him.

            "My friend, I must thank you.  Judging from the words of Glorfindel and Erestor, I had expected that Anomen would be exceedingly frail.  Either they exaggerated, or, more likely, you have outdone yourself!  Your magic, as ever, is most powerful!"

            "Yes," agreed Saruman, speaking through thin lips, "it would seem that there has been powerful magic at work here."

            Anomen was still clinging to Mithrandir.  Glorfindel had been watching this exchange, and now he stepped forward.

            "Anomen," he scolded, "stop making a spectacle of yourself.  You would think that you are still an elfling—oomph!"

            Seemingly obedient, Anomen had loosed his hold on Mithrandir—only to fling his arms around Glorfindel.

            "Oh, Glorfindel," he teased the shocked elf-lord, "I _am still an elfling. You yourself never overlook an opportunity to remind me of that fact!"_

 Speechless, Glorfindel looked about at the smiling faces of his friends, for they had been joined by Erestor and Elrond.  Elrond cleared his throat.

"He has a point, Glorfindel."

"Is that so, Elrond?  In that case," said the balrog-slayer, grinning now in his turn, "Anomen, you will find in the armory—"

"Glorfindel," Elrond interrupted, "Elladan and Elrohir have polished the weaponry to the point that the metal is wearing thin."

Thwarted, Glorfindel wrinkled his forehead, trying to think of a suitable task.  Before he could do so, however, Erestor broke in.

"Anomen, come with me to library.  I have, ah, I have—oh yes, I have some scrolls that need copying."  Erestor winked at the young Elf.

Anomen grinned, let go of Glorfindel, and followed his tutor into the Hall.

Once Anomen was out of sight, Glorfindel allowed his gratitude to show on his face.

"Saruman, we are greatly in your debt.  No one expected Anomen to recover so quickly!"

Saruman waved off his thanks.  "No thanks are necessary.  I was glad to have him in my care, for I myself take a great interest in that young Elf and his future."

A few days after Anomen's return to Rivendell, Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, and Mithrandir sat in Elrond's study discussing the upcoming council.  "Elrond," Erestor pointed out, "Thranduil and his entourage should arrive in two days at the most.  We need to do something about Anomen.  His hair is growing back in, but even if we were to dye it again, I don't think we have time to get everyone used to calling him 'Dûrrandîr'.  If Thranduil learns that you have been harboring a refugee from his realm, his ire may cause him to depart in wrath, and the council will have been a failure.  Moreover, we do not want harm to befall Anomen, and Thranduil may resolve to find a way to strike at him once he realizes where he is hidden."

            Elrond nodded, and turned to Mithrandir.  "Is he well enough, do you think, to accompany Taurmeldir on patrol?  That would keep him out of the way, and he would not protest, as I think he might if we confined him to his room."

            "Not only would he protest," said Glorfindel grimly.  "You know perfectly well that he would climb down the trellis.  One of these days," the balrog-slayer added, "I am going to skin him."

            "So I have heard," said Elrond dryly.  "What say you, Mithrandir?" he said, turning again to the wizard.

            "I do not think that a brief patrol will do him any harm."

            "Are not Elladan and Elrohir members of that patrol?" asked Erestor.

            "Yes," replied Glorfindel.

            "In that case," laughed Erestor, "I have greater concern for Taurmeldir's health than for Anomen's!"

            "Especially as it is time for Thoron to rejoin the patrol as well," agreed Elrond.  He arose.  "Erestor, will you see that Anomen is sent to me so that I may inform him that he is to rejoin the patrol.  Afterward," he added, addressing himself to Glorfindel with a smile, "you will no doubt wish to give all four strict instructions."

 "As if _that_ will do any good," muttered the balrog-slayer.  He, Erestor, and Mithrandir also arose and made to depart the room.

"Oh, Glorfindel," Elrond called after him, "as Anomen _has only recently recovered from his illness, perhaps he should not perform _all_ the chores whilst on this patrol.  Would you suggest to Taurmeldir that the various tasks be divided amongst the four youngest scouts—Thoron, Elladan, and Elrohir, as well as Anomen?"_

Glorfindel's face was unreadable but his voice was not.  "What a _brilliant_ idea, Elrond," he said sarcastically.  Elrond was not given to grinning, but he made an exception in this case.

            Anomen stood outside Elfond's chamber steeling himself for the severe scolding that he knew he was in for—and that he realized he deserved.  He had run off alone in a forest that was known to be dangerous.  He had refused Thoron's pleas to return to his companions.  He had scoffed at Glorfindel.  He had been heedless of the signs that danger approached.  Altogether, he had been foolish, stubborn, and disrespectful.  These were not the qualities of a scout or a warrior, he knew, and he wondered if Elrond had decided to confine him to tasks in and about Rivendell.  Such a punishment would be just.  At last, taking a steadying breath, he knocked on the door.

            "Enter."

            Anomen pushed open the door and reluctantly stepped into the room.   Stopping when he was a few feet from Elrond, he wanted to hang his head and stare at the floor.  Instead, he stood as straight as he could and looked directly at the elf-lord.

            "Is there anything you wish to say to me, Anomen?"

            Anomen nodded and took yet another breath, a deep one for he knew he had much to confess.  "It was wrong of me to leave the camp without permission, and I should have listened to Thoron when he tried to persuade me to go back to my companions.   I should not have mocked Lord Glorfindel, for he had my best interests at heart, even if I was too stubborn to admit it.  In my anger, I was careless; had I not been, the spiders may never have caught me in the first place, and I would have spared my friends much trouble and grief."

            "I am glad that you understand the nature of your faults, as will be Taurmeldir, who otherwise would be reluctant to accept you back into his patrol.  You have learned much—although the price of your education was a trifle higher than it would have been had you been less willful."

            Anomen was stunned.  "Then I am—I am to return to the patrol?"

            "Yes, for it would be a shame to waste wisdom so dearly bought."        

            "Oh, thank you, Elrond."  Anomen was so relieved and overjoyed that he could not stop himself from flinging his arms around the elf-lord.  Elrond freely returned the hug.  "Adar," Anomen murmured impulsively.  Then, suddenly self-conscious, the young Elf released the elf-lord and sprang back.

            "Lord Elrond," he stammered, "I-I-I am—I beg your pardon for my impertinence!"

            Elrond raised an eyebrow in amusement.  "Impertinence?  Anomen, I have been referring to you as 'ion-nîn' for over five hundred years.  If I may call you 'my son', why may you not address me as 'father'?"

            Anomen blushed, but his embarrassment was outweighed by his gratitude.

            "Now go and prepare yourself.  Then come to the Hall of Fire.  Mithrandir is there with Saruman.  You should bid farewell to both.  Be especially sure to express your gratitude to Saruman, who has gone to much trouble on your account."

            "Yes, Adar."

            Later that evening Anomen hurried toward the Hall of Fire.  He was sorry to be saying farewell to Mithrandir so soon after being reunited with him, but he was delighted at the thought that he was getting away from Saruman.   He hoped that he would never again be forced to address him as 'wise father'."  He paused at the door to compose himself.  "Last time," he reminded himself.

            He opened the door and approached the two wizards, who had been joined by Elrond and Glorfindel.

"Saeladar," Anomen began.

"What is that you say?" asked Elrond, who had caught the 'adar' and thought that Anomen was addressing him.

"Saruman," Anomen said hastily.  "I was about to say to Saruman—"

"That's _Lord Saruman to you," chided Glorfindel._

Saruman raised his hand in a benign gesture.  "Ah, Glorfindel, do not scold the young one.  I am pleased that he is so comfortable in my presence that he feels that he can address me so."

Anomen, however, was overjoyed at the opening provided by Glorfindel.  To that elf-lord's surprise, Anomen, with every appearance of genuine contriteness, said, "I am sorry, Lord Glorfindel, at my lack of decorum.  I wish to disgrace neither you nor my Adar, Lord Elrond.  In the future, I promise that I shall address Lord Saruman in the proper fashion at all times."  A perfect picture of politeness, Anomen bowed to both the Istar and the balrog-slayer.

            Saruman forced himself to smile, but inwardly he seethed.  He could sense his opportunity slipping away, thanks to that wretched elf-lord and to whatever magic had been used to counter his own.  Very well, he would have to turn his charms on the messengers from Rohan who from time to time journeyed to Isengard.  Surely his blandishments and flattery could persuade one of the Rohirrim to enter into his service.  Perhaps, he mused, it was all for the best.  Elves had senses superior to those of Men but had proved difficult to corrupt—mayhap for that very reason.   No doubt it would be easier to turn a Man.  Certainly they were much more avaricious than any Elf he had ever met!  As for Anomen, well, if that Elf ever wandered within his reach, he would pay him back for his ingratitude.  Oh, yes, he would see the young one taught wisdom at the end of a whip!  As Saruman imagined the torments that were in store for Anomen, he no longer had to force himself to smile, for his pleasure, although spiteful, was real.

            Soon it was not only Saruman who had reason to seethe.  When the Lothlórien Elves arrived the next day, Lady Galadriel found to her dismay that the Rivendell Elves now held Saruman in high esteem because they believed he had taken excellent care of their Anomen.

            "Galadriel," Celeborn advised her, "you must give over your plan of contriving to place Mithrandir at the head of the council.  Formerly Erestor and Glorfindel would have supported you, and they might have persuaded Elrond to be of your party, but now I fear that you stand alone.  Mithrandir, as you well know, will not seek such a position of influence, so even he will not aid you.  He will accept power only if he thinks it needful—and this he does not believe and will not believe until Saruman at last shows his hand, which I deem he will not do for some time to come."

            "If I were to share what I have seen in the mirror," mused Galadriel.

            Celeborn shook his head.  "You know as well as I that everything shown in the mirror is equivocal, subject to two—nay, to many—interpretations.  Saruman's potion is only one instance.  A wizard gives a young Elf a potion that makes him sleepy.  But what of it?  Even Anomen himself, although he contrived to avoid the elixir, did so because he thought it unnecessary, not because he thought Saruman was striving to harm him."

            "But in his heart Anomen knows that something is amiss."

            "Saruman makes Anomen uneasy, but he does not know why, and not knowing he cannot help us for he is unable to put his misgivings into words."

            "Yet he resists Saruman."

            "Yes, but he does not know the reason.  He is not even aware that he _does_ resist, for he does not know that he has cause to do so.  No, he cannot help us, at least not yet.  We must continue to watch and wait."

            "Watch and wait," said Galadriel bitterly, "as we have ever done whilst the enemy grows stronger."

            Had she been a mortal, Galadriel would have ground her teeth.  As she was an Elf, she composed herself, and as gracious and enigmatic as ever, prepared to attempt to sway the council, doomed though her efforts might be.

            At least, she thought, she had the consolation of knowing that Anomen had once again eluded the wizard of Isengard.  That victory would have to suffice—for the time being.

This is the end of this episode in Anomen's life.  Maybe I will come up with another adventure sometime.


End file.
